


The Crossroads

by Calyah



Series: Ma Vir'Abelasan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dismemberment, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Limbs, Romance, Sexual Content, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7116919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calyah/pseuds/Calyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after the events of the Temple of Fen'Harel, a new enemy appears - along with an old ally. Friendship and purpose converge, as Abelas and Ellya are once more reunited, but the path to peace is never without sacrifice. (Sequel to Ma Vir'Abelasan. Retelling of the Trespasser DLC)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I highly suggest reading Ma Vir'Abelasan first in order for the characters and dynamics to be fully understood. This is the story I've written in place of my other, longer sequel A New Home (which I've taken down). I hope it's still enjoyable. Some parts may be recognizable, as I've used some of the writing from that old story and tried to work it into something new.

Ellya Lavellan tapped her foot and shifted in her chair, the creaking of the leather cushion filling the silent room. Biting her lip, she let her gaze wander. Opulence and excess seemed to seep into and out of every crevice imaginable: gold and ivory wallpaper, gilded mirrors, intricately carved wooden furniture inlaid with pearls, and the plushest velvet cushion settees. Even the air was scented with sticks of floral incense that smoked quietly in the corner. It made Ellya’s skin crawl. 

Shifting again, she waited. It had been six months since she had last seen Leliana, now Divine Victoria. Though several letters had been exchanged between them, they were always formal and impersonal, just as Ellya would expect from her former spymaster. 

So, it had been a surprise to receive the latest correspondence: an urgent invitation for Ellya Lavellan, not Inquisitor or Herald, to come to the Divine's personal residence in the Orlesian countryside for a visit. The details had been deliberately vague, Ellya assumed, but she knew the matter must have been important for Leliana to address her without her usual Orlesian diplomacy. The request was odd and Ellya had been bristling with nervous anticipation ever since she had arrived to the large estate and been escorted into the sitting room to wait for the Divine. 

A door handle clicked to Ellya's left, and she turned just in time to see Leliana duck through the frame and swiftly close it behind her. 

Ellya quirked a brow and opened her mouth to speak, but Leliana held up a hand to silence her.

"My dear Herald, it's so good of you to come," Leliana spoke cheerfully. Moving to her desk, she tapped a finger to her ear. "I do hope your journey wasn't too tiresome."

Ellya's ears twitched, and she tilted her head just slightly, listening for any sounds of potential eavesdroppers. 

"Not at all," she replied. "In fact, I find the Orlesian countryside very refreshing."

"It is quite marvelous isn't it?" Leliana's hands disappeared briefly beneath her desk and a slight shuffling sound could be heard against the wood. "Perhaps we could take a walk in the garden, then? The flowers are in full bloom this time of year, and I've been cultivating the roses myself, when my duties allow the time. Would you like to see?"

Ellya watched as Leliana tucked a folded parchment into the red sash of her Divine robes. 

“Please.” She dipped her head and followed Leliana out of the sitting room, through the polished halls, and past the tall marble archway that lead to the back of the estate.

They walked in silence for a time, Ellya content to let Leliana lead of the conversation. It was obvious there was something important she wished to discuss, but she would wait until the time was right. When they entered the garden proper, Ellya momentarily forgot her curiosity and focused instead on the beautiful display before her eyes. Tall, green hedges lined a winding stone path that twisted and turned into the distance. Ellya could only assume it created a lush garden maze. To her right, vines and bright pink blossoms crawled up and across the wooden lattice of a large awning that provided shade for a secluded sitting area.

Leliana steered to the left, though, bypassing the stone path and moving her through low shrubs of carefully cultivated purple flowers that Ellya couldn’t name. They wandered among the soft grasses, occasionally bending to smell the fresh herbs and roses that Leliana had proudly pointed out, and spoke of inconsequential things: the grounds at Skyhold, the summer storms across the valley, and whether or not Varric had finished his latest romance serial.

Ellya knew that Leliana still had contacts within the Inquisition and most likely received regular reports on her actions and whereabouts. But, she played along with the charade as they continued their stroll.

It wasn’t until the reached the far end of the garden and the walls opened up into a large field of lavender, rows upon rows of lush purples bushes for as far as Ellya could see, that Leliana’s tone changed.

“I have been meaning to ask,” Leliana began, as they made their way down one of the several rows, “how have you been feeling these last couple of months. Are you well?”

Smirking, Ellya glanced to her left, knowing precisely what Leliana was implying. “Truthfully, it’s been a very long time since I’ve felt so at peace.” She sighed and plucked a long sprig of lavender and brought it to her nose. “With the voices under my control and the anchor surprisingly silent, I feel…” she paused briefly and breathed in the calming scent of the herb. “Well, I feel like myself. I feel whole and perhaps on my way to being happy once more.”

A beaming smile crossed Leliana’s face, as she listened to Ellya’s words. “That’s good to hear,” she whispered and clasped her hands. “Dorian, Varric, and the Iron Bull weren’t the only ones who worried after your health all those months ago. I wish you had let more of us help you shoulder your burdens.”

Ellya stopped walking and settled a hand against Leliana’s arm. “I knew you all cared. Please know that I did.” Turning her gaze away, she paused and bit her lip. “I’m sorry if I gave the impression that I didn’t want your help. Going off into the wilds...it was just something I needed to do. For myself.”

Leliana chuckled and squeezed Ellya’s hand. “Of course you did. We all have demons we must face in order to become strong enough to fulfill our fates.” 

As they continued their walk, something in Leliana’s tone and words caused Ellya to furrow her brow.

“Is there something I should know, Leliana?” she asked, her voice hushed and worried.

With a sigh, Leliana glanced surreptitiously around but kept moving, farther away from the estate until they were well into the open field.

“There are a great many things you should know,” she finally replied when nothing but silent rows of lavender surrounded them. “I’m afraid the forces across Thedas have not been idle while you were away.”

Ellya frowned and her gaze darted to the sash across Leliana’s waist. “Which forces?”

“The obvious culprits, of course: Fereldan and Orlais, plus the traditionalists in the Chantry, but you need not concern yourself with them.” Leliana’s fingers dipped into her sash and pulled out the concealed parchment and offered it to Ellya. “My agents intercepted these. It seems Gaspard is growing tired of playing the puppet to you and Briala. He is organizing a cross nation council to address the power of the Inquisition.”

Biting her lip, Ellya snatched the papers from Leliana’s hands and tried to read the words as quickly as she could.

“And Fereldan is on board with this?” she asked disbelieving. She had thought her relations with King Alistair and Queen Anora had been on favorable terms, their trade and business thriving.

“Fereldan has not forgotten your actions to stop Corypheus,” Leliana said gently, “but neither have they forgotten what it’s like to have a foreign army occupying their lands.”

Ellya’s eyes darted back to Leliana’s face, aghast. “The Inquisition would never,” she sputtered, “I would never…”

“Don’t take it personally. It’s most likely that it’s the Bannorn that is pushing for action and not the Crown, but don’t underestimate their influence.” Leliana smoothed her white robes and bent down, pretending to inspect the soil. “If I were you, I would be more worried about Orlais, and what its nobles hope to accomplish.”

Ellya's eyes darted back and forth across the pages, absorbing the words and their intent. "They want to use me," she stated flatly. 

Chuckling, Leliana snapped a few dead twigs from the brush. "Yes. The question is: will you let them?"

Careful not to crumple the papers in her hands, Ellya turned and strode a few paces away. Her mind whirled and tried to see every avenue she could take. "How could I possibly do that?" She said breathlessly over her shoulder. 

With a shrug, Leliana stood and dusted off her hands. "It's not the worst fate to have Orlais as an ally. A union between The Inquisition and the Orlesian Empire would be enough of a force to give anyone pause."

Ellya scoffed and kicked the dirt with her toe. "I didn't supplant Celene just to go back to the Orlesian status quo: a favor for a favor. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. If I let Gaspard and the rest of the nobility use the power and name of the Inquisition without discretion, who knows how far they could push? And what exactly would they hope to accomplish with that kind of force? I can’t imagine it’d be anything good." She swiped her hand through the air before quickly refolding the papers. "No, it's unacceptable. I can't allow the Inquisition to be corrupted for the sake of Orlesian ambition."

A small smirk briefly formed on Leliana's face before her features settled once again into seriousness, but she remained silent. 

Ellya narrowed her eyes. "Is there something you'd like to say?"

Leliana smiled softly and wet her lips before speaking. "Simply that it warms my heart to see you so proud and full of conviction. Sent by the Maker or no, you have truly been a gift to the people and to our cause."

A comfortable heat rose to Ellya's cheeks. "I couldn't have done any of it without you and the others," she murmured.

Silence followed her words and Leliana’s smile widened, a steady beat of understanding falling between them. 

Clearing her throat, Ellya handed the papers back to Leliana. “What are my options?”

Leliana gently tucked the papers back into her clothes. Eyeing Ellya, she plucked several sprigs from a nearby bush. “Disbanding the Inquisition to appease Fereldan is one avenue. Allying with Orlais is of course another, though you’ve made your thoughts on that very clear.” She smirked and pulled more lavender into her hands. “But these need not be your only courses of action. I will continue to monitor Gaspard’s movements, and the Bannorn, as well as the clerics who wish to see you denounced.” She moved to Ellya’s side and handed her the bouquet. “The Chantry still has great sway over the people. When the council convenes we could move to have the Inquisition absorbed into the Chantry, to act as an honor guard for the interests of the Divine.” She patted Ellya’s arm. “Neither Fereldan nor Orlais would dare move against you then. And it would settle the nerves of those who see you as an unpredictable outlier with too much power.”

Furrowing her brow, Ellya listened carefully to Leliana’s words and stroked the soft plums of the herbs in her arms. Another game. Another ploy. Another turn to keep her power in tact. Suddenly, she felt very weary. With a sigh, she turned from Leliana and walked further into the field. Wrapping her arms around her waist and closing her eyes, she let the scented air gently pull at her clothes and waft through her hair. 

No. She was tired of playing.

“I appreciate your counsel, Leliana,” Ellya murmured, her eyes still closed. “But maybe Fereldan is right.” Opening her eyes, she turned back to her friend. “The Inquisition was formed to close the Breach and save Thedas from Corypheus. We’ve done that. It’s been a year since that battle, and the last reported rift was found and closed over three months ago.” She walked over to Leliana and pushed the bouquet back into her arms. “Why should I cling to power simply for the sake of having it? I don’t want it. I never did. I did what was necessary and now it’s done.” She drew in a deep breath and trailed a hand down Leliana’s arm. “Perhaps it’s time for me to go home.”

Leliana stared at her for a while, her brow drawn in and her mouth tight. It was clear she didn’t approve of Ellya’s course of action, but Ellya didn’t care. She needed to start down her own path again, one that didn’t involve being used as a pawn for the shemlen across Thedas. 

“If that is how you feel,” Leliana eventually said, the creases around her eyes softening slightly. “I do not agree, but it is, of course, your choice.” She sighed and clasped Ellya’s hand. “Fereldan will be pleased, but I do fear for you in the wake of what Gaspard might plan when he realizes just how much control you are willing to relinquish. Perhaps a meeting with Briala would be prudent before any more decisions are made.”

Ellya nodded. She knew her choices would affect more than just herself and that Briala would need to be informed, but she still felt that disbanding The Inquisition was the right path.

As they started to walk back towards the estate, a thoughtful silence settled between them. It was clear to Ellya that a finality to their relationship was approaching, and while part of her mourned yet another loss, she was ready to start the next chapter in her life, hopefully away from the prying world and the burden of being The Inquisitor.

“Where will you go?” Leliana asked as they entered the garden again.

Ellya smiled sadly. There was nowhere to go, not really. With Clan Lavellan gone, there was no place but Skyhold to truly call home, but she had friends she could call upon for the time being until she figured it out. 

“First Skyhold and the council,” she said with as much light-heartedness as she could muster and nudged Leliana with her elbow, a last act of friendship before the weight of their titles settled once more upon their shoulders. “After that?” She grinned, but it felt strained. “Hopefully, something quiet.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend sleeps and Abelas decides.

Abelas traced his fingers across the jagged cliff wall and turned his face towards the night sky. The moons were hidden behind the thick clouds and only the softest light permeated the gray, but he barely noticed. His thoughts remained firmly on the cavern at his back: the tomb. For that is truly what the cavern was, a burial site, filled with the bodies of his friends as they lay sleeping in the eternal imitation of death. 

With a heavy sigh, Abelas cast his gaze away from the blanketed sky and back towards the entrance carved in the rock. His lips pursed and his heart felt heavy, but he knew he needed to perform the rights once again and say goodbye. He had done so too many times as of late, casting his spells of preservation and wishing his fellow Sentinels into the arms of the Gods to walk forever in the endless dream. He should have been joyous to send them to peace after so many years of long servitude, but he could only feel disquiet. A pervasive emptiness grew within his heart, as the number of friends who remained at his side paled to the number of those who had already closed their eyes for the last. 

Abelas swallowed against the lump in his throat as he watched Tamael, his last true friend and confidant, exit the hidden cavern and incline his head in a shallow nod. 

It was time. 

Trailing his fingers one last time against the sharp rock, Abelas pushed away from the cliff wall and made his way to Tamael's side. As he passed, Tamael grasped his shoulder and gave him a slight squeeze before letting go. Abelas smiled softly. It would have to be enough strength for his hardest goodbye. 

Walking out of the open air and into the dark atmosphere of the cave, Abelas inhaled deeply and steeled himself. The further he walked through the narrow passage, the more noticeable the rock became above his head. It was heavy, almost oppressive, as if it mocked him his duty, but he pressed on.

Deeper he went into the earth. Soon, a soft blue started to permeate the dark. It grew steadily brighter, a sliver of bright lyrium winding its way across his path and running like a river through the cracks in the rock. Deeper still and the lyrium grew, its light pulsing in the suffocating darkness and cold. 

Abelas’ steps faltered slightly, as he approached a large bend in the hall. He knew what lay ahead, had been there many times, but this time was different. His heart beat quickly, almost in time with the steady drip of water that echoed off the cavern walls in the distance. His fists clenched and unclenched, but he moved forward again and followed the blue river to its destination. 

In the span of a breath, the walls opened and the rock ceiling curved upward. The lyrium splintered and its branches stretched out across every imaginable surface, not least of all the stone slabs that lined the space and the bodies that lay thereon. It was the heart of the underground system in which he walked, a giant lyrium-filled cavern safely cocooned within the earth. 

Abelas continued forward. He made his way around hundreds of fellow brothers and sisters, those whom had traveled with him from the Temple as well as those whom he had found within ruins and groves in the forest of old. His fingers trailed gently across their resting places as he passed. He hoped the rock and lyrium would be enough to sustain them in perpetuum.

One last curve and a step across a shimmering crevasse, and Abelas saw Ishala sitting slouched against a far slab of stone, her dark hair and golden armor gleaming in the soft blue light. His heart skipped and his step faltered once more. She was his final charge, the last one who wished to sleep, and the one without whom he would feel lost. 

Ishala smiled softly at him as he approached, as if he were the one being put to rest and not her.

“Atisha, Abelas,” she soothed. Once he got within reach, she firmly took his hand and pulled him to her side. “Don't look so dour. You’re sending me to my peace, not plunging a knife through my heart.”

She meant it as a comfort, he knew, something to lighten the burden of his task, but Abelas could not smile past the sorrow that sat across his thoughts. Settling against the stone, he cast his gaze towards the swirling lyrium at his feet. “We both know rightful duty is not always the joyful one,” he murmured. 

Ishala sighed and pulled his hand closer, her calloused fingers moving gently across his palm. “Your duty is done, falon. Your people are taken care of. Won't you seek your own peace?”

Abelas furrowed his brow and wet his lips. “There could be more-”

“There aren't,” Ishala interrupted him quickly. 

He darted his gaze to her face. It was the epitome of serenity and calm, though her eyebrow was raised in challenge. It almost made him smile. Even now, at the precipice of her end, she remained unchanged, her strength and wit just as he had always known her, his lifelong friend and mentor. 

“Tamael and Arlassan yet remain,” Abelas reasoned, though even he could hear how weak his voice sounded, “and so does Halani.”

Another small smile crept along Ishala’s lips. “And they’ll do fine. They've chosen their paths.”

Silence pressed between them, and Ishala sighed once more. “You have given more than anyone, Abelas. You deserve peace if you wish it.”

Abelas closed his eyes against her words and drew in a deep breath. The air was stagnant and full of the metallic sting of wet rock, but the magic of the nearby lyrium hummed and buzzed against his skin. It was a small comfort, one that reminded him of days long ago. Days he yearned for beyond anything else. 

Swallowing, Abelas opened his eyes once more and curled his other hand around Ishala’s. 

“Your presence will be missed,” he whispered and gave her as much of a smile as he could muster, as he watched her lips twitch and her eyes warm. “And I value your wisdom beyond all others." He pulled their joined hands into his lap. "My own rest has been but a distant shadow to the wellbeing of our people. However, I will seek it, as you ask of me.”

Tilting her head, Ishala peered at him for a short while before nodding. 

“Good,” she whispered, her voice suddenly more strained. She turned her head and eyed the long slab of stone beneath them. “I'm ready.” 

Abelas’ heart clenched, as she patted his hands softly and let go, but he pushed himself to a standing position. He swallowed again and turned, watching silently as Ishala spread her cloak against the stone and laid back. Her armor gleamed blue in the light of the lyrium and the chains clinked as she settled herself. Abelas didn't dare blink. He wanted to remember every motion, every sense, every last moment with her. Reaching, he pushed a few stray hairs from her face.

Ishala chuckled, but didn't comment on his unusual tenderness. Stretching her limbs one last time, she nodded and closed her eyes. 

“Dareth shiral, Ishala,” Abelas began and gripped the edge of the slab, his words spilling forth in dutiful repetition. The stone was cold beneath his fingers despite the lyrium that hovered nearby, and the sensation grounded him. “May your footsteps be true as they seek the long path of the Gods.” His voice spoke the words, but he felt like an observer. One more duty to perform, and then he could push it all away and sleep. “May your slumber be eternal and your spirit be claimed by the everlasting bonds of the land Beyond.”

Abelas unfurled his fingers from the slab and gathered his magic, making the stagnant air feel thick and almost suffocating. Usually, calling upon the magic of the Fade was a comforting blanket to him, but in that moment, he could feel nothing but bittersweet abandonment. It was a loneliness that not even the magical connection could erase. 

Abelas watched as Ishala’s breaths slowed and stopped. Even though her face was smiling and relaxed, he felt his own lungs constrict at the sight. His hands moved automatically over her, casting the spells of preservation and allowing the blissful rest of uthenera claim her. 

“Falon, na melana sahlin,” Abelas whispered and let the hum of magic across his palms fade. “In uthenera na revas.”

He wasn't sure how long he remained there, standing at her side and staring over her unmoving form. It could have been hours or mere minutes, but eventually, Abelas forced himself to move. With one last look at Ishala, he turned and took in the whole of the room. The silence was deafening. There was too much stillness amidst so many bodies. He looked at them one by one, letting his gaze linger to remember them. They each had served, some with him and some not, but he felt their connection clearly. And now he would seal them away from the world forever.

Abelas sighed and moved back towards the entrance to the large cavern. Their time was over. His time was over. The long duty was done, and he, too, finally felt the keen pull of uthenera.

“Sleep well, my brothers and sisters,” he murmured as he walked into the winding hall. “I will join you soon.”

The night air was sticky and overbearingly warm when Abelas made his way to the surface once more. It pooled into his armor and around his limbs like a soothing fire, but no amount of heat could dampen the chill in his chest. 

Tamael was waiting for him, when he returned to their camp, a small clearing not far from the entrance to the cave. He raised a finger to his lips and nodded to the other side of the clearing. Abelas’ eyes followed Tamael’s path and found Arlassan, Tamael’s son, sprawled across a light blanket and slumbering noisily by the fire. Hearing the loud snores of the young man and seeing the steady rise and fall of his chest made the corner of Abelas’ mouth twitch upwards ever so slightly. 

Returning his gaze to Tamael, Abelas walked across the clearing and sat beside him on a fallen log. 

They were both quiet a few moments, letting the ambient sounds of the night speak instead. The insects buzzed and small lights danced and blinked through the tree line. Moths hovered dangerously close to their fire as it crackled and popped across the summer night. 

Finally, Tamael tilted his head towards him. “It’s done.” It wasn't a question. 

Abelas nodded and stared into the flames. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. 

Silence once again settled between them. It was not a strange or uncommon thing within their friendship, but the reason was new. 

“You are certain you do not wish it yourself?” Abelas asked quietly. 

Tamael scoffed and turned an incredulous eye on him. “You know me better than to ask that again.”

Abelas chuckled, but it felt hollow. “Of course.” He gazed through the flames towards Arlassan, and his mind settled on the journey his friends would take. 

“And you?” Tamael whispered almost cautiously, his voice cutting through Abelas’ murky thoughts. “What have you decided?”

Abelas steepled his fingers and leaned forward until his elbows rested against his knees. 

“I know why you remain,” he began quietly and stared once more over the campfire, “and why Arlassan chooses the same.” He paused and let the sweet forest breeze and biting smoke of the fire wash over him. He closed his eyes against his next words. “The world cannot offer me such comforts any longer.”

He heard Tamael let out a steady breath. “To sleep then.”

Abelas smiled sadly, but kept his eyes closed. “Yes.”

“Here?” 

Abelas shook his head and turned to meet Tamael’s gaze. 

“No,” he said quietly, his voice resigned, “this place has not been my home for many ages.” He scanned the tree line of the surrounding forest. “If I am to sleep, I wish to do so in Mythal’s Temple, where I belong.”

“It's not safe, Abelas,” Tamael countered, his voice firm, “The shemlen and banal’vhen have already found it.”

“It no longer matters,” Abelas murmured, his eyes turning upward to the diluted gray of the blanketed moons. 

Tamael was silent for a long while after that. Arlassan’s snores and the crackle of the flames surrounded them, such mundane sounds to drown out the heavy thoughts within. 

“If that's what you wish,” Tamael said eventually. 

Abelas turned and gave him a half smile, a small motion to show his appreciation of Tamael’s understanding. “It is.”

With a nod, Tamael sighed. “Back to the south.”

“Yes.” Abelas flicked his wrist and dampened the campfire ever so slightly, too warm in the sweltering jungle heat. “South.” He glanced back towards the direction of the hidden cave. “We can depart in the morning.”

No further words were said. None were needed. Both Abelas and Tamael understood the weight of goodbyes, and Abelas knew they'd both want silence that night to think on all the friends they had seen to their end. 

The morning came too swiftly, and when the fire has been doused and their belongings packed, the three Sentinels stood quietly in front of the cave, each lost in their own farewells. 

Soon, though, they turned and made their way onward, away from their friends and away from their past. Arlassan and Tamael walked with a purpose, a sad yet unwavering pace towards Halani and towards their future. Abelas’ steps were heavier. His time was ending, and he was both glad and fearful of it. A few more weeks of travel, though, and it would be done. 

A smile once again graced his lips. A few more weeks and then he would sleep. His weariness would be quenched and he, too, could finally be at peace.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellya and Halani enjoy Halamshiral, but Leliana reveals a shocking discovery.

Ellya sighed and leaned heavily against the balcony doors of her suite. The Orlesian nobility were exactly as she had left them all those months, years, ago. Even with Briala in technical power within Halamshiral, there was no undoing the rank impression the gathering nobles left in their wakes. The Game still abounded. Gossiping men and women still scurried for favors and dined in opulence, and still cast oblivious glances towards the elven workers that moved beneath their feet. It rolled Ellya’s stomach to see how little she, as Inquisitor, had affected the elven lot, but she knew change took time, and took solace in the fact that one of her own people held the power to do the most good.

Drumming her fingers and taking in the wafting smells of the city below, Ellya turned her thoughts to The Exalted Council. It was still early in the proceedings, with dignitaries from Orlais and Fereldan still due to arrive within the coming days, but she could not shake the feelings of unease. She and her entourage had arrived only two days ago, but already the coiling tension slid beneath every polite conversation she made and well-wish she heard. Leliana had assured her that she would oversee all the meetings and that the people working with the Inquisition would suffer no ill effects, but Ellya worried. She knew her own course, knew she planned to dissolve her organization of its power, despite the persuasive attempts of Briala and her advisors. She could only hope that an easy transition between nations could be accomplished, and she could finally leave it all behind. 

Ellya turned from her view of the busy palace gardens and smoothed her hands down the velvet front of her uniform. Another round of forced smiles and sipping overly sweet drinks was in order for the night, and she dreaded every second of it. However, it did give her an opportunity to reconnect with the friends she had sorely missed. It had been too long since she had received a visit from Varric, or spoken at length with Dorian other than through their communication rune. All of her former companions had come, whether out of political obligation or friendly desire, and Ellya was glad.

The creak of rustling leathers drew Ellya’s attention to the sitting room adjacent to her chambers. She smiled as she walked through the door and found Halani standing by a nearby settee, fiddling with the silver ties down the front of her blue tunic.

“You look beautiful,” Ellya said with a smirk and made her way over. Their outfits matched, save for their color. Both were adorned with the silver crest of the Inquisition, and of a similar cut.

“I’d rather be in my armor,” Halani said with a grin and cinched her ceremonial belt, before letting the leather fall around her hips. “These humans do nothing but stare at me behind those masks, like they’re just waiting for an opportunity to put a blade in my back.” She shuddered. “It’s disturbing.”

Ellya laughed and sidled closer. “If it makes you feel better, I’m sure most of the stares and blades are meant for me.”

“Very funny,” Halani pushed lightly on Ellya’s arm. “Even more reason why you should have an armored bodyguard at your side.”

Snorting, Ellya drew away and plucked a decanter of wine and two cups from the nearby sideboard. “I’d rather not go into a political arena looking ready for battle.” She poured Halani a drink and offered it with a grin. “At least not a physical one.” Pausing, she took a sip of her own wine and let the earthy sweetness roll across her tongue. “Besides,” she continued, as she sat down in a large winged chair by the hearth, “no one will do anything until they can figure out what I mean to do with the Inquisition’s forces. The shemlen lords would rather not kill someone when they could try to use them instead.”

Halani’s lips twisted into a grimace as Ellya’s tone turned bitter. “It'll be over soon.”

Gulping down another mouthful of wine, Ellya swirled the cup in her hands. “I hope so,” she muttered before quirking her lips into a semblance of a smile. “At least the food’s not bad. And neither are the beds.”

They both chuckled and eyed their wine.

Biting her lip, Ellya considered Halani for a moment, as she stood staring into the low flames of the fire. “Have you heard from Arlassan recently?”

She had not been able to meet Arlassan when she had spent time with the Sentinels a year ago, but Halani had spoken of him often, and of his visits to her in the Fade. His talent as a Dreamer had allowed them to maintain their intimacy while they both discovered new paths in the world beyond the Temple of Mythal. 

Halani sighed and pursed her lips. “No, not since last time.”

Ellya nodded. Arlassan’s last visit had been several weeks ago, and it had not been a happy one. He had informed Halani that Ishala had chosen to go to uthenera, and while it had been expected, in part, the news had saddened them both. Though she had only known her a few weeks, Ellya mourned for her loss. She had been a good friend during her time at the Temple of Fen’Harel, and she would never forget her words in helping her reconcile her faith. But, as Ellya looked at Halani once more, she knew her pain went beyond the usual pall of grief. In Ishala, Halani had lost a mentor and a close friend, a mother almost. The shadows that lingered in her eyes ever since they had heard the news couldn’t be hidden behind the radiance of her smile.

Putting her cup aside, Ellya leaned forward. “Are you worried?”

“I don’t know.” Halani’s voice was solemn and conflicted. She drained the last of her wine and turned to face Ellya. “I...I think I should try to return to them.”

Sad, but not quite surprised at Halani’s words, Ellya nodded automatically. She would miss her, but she understood her desire to return to Arlassan and her people, especially in a time of mourning. “Of course,” she said with a quiet smile. Standing, Ellya picked up her cup and turned to reach for the decanter. “I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“I’ll stay until the Council is over,” Halani reassured her, and Ellya nodded as she poured more wine. “And when the ritual is complete, I’ll come back.” She chuckled and a mischievous grin settled across her lips. “Perhaps I can even convince Tamael to return to Skyhold with Arlassan and me.”

Ellya did laugh then, the loud sound bursting from her throat at the thought of Tamael walking glumly through the halls of Skyhold. “Good luck.” She sat back down in her chair and quirked a brow. “So, tell me about this ritual. Is it a special ceremony to honor the dead, or well, the loved ones who have gone on?”

A suddenly guilty expression crossed Halani’s features, and she shifted from foot to foot. “Um, no.” She tapped her fingers on the rim of her cup and glanced around the room. “It’s for Abelas. They’re traveling back to the Temple of Mythal so that he can join to the others in uthenera.”

Ellya blinked, the very air around her seeming to still. “Oh,” was all she could muster to say for the moment. 

It had been a year since she had last seen Abelas, but he, and all that had happened at the Temple of Fen’Harel, had never been far from the forefront of her thoughts. Time hadn’t lessened the feelings she held towards him or for what they had experienced together. She could only define it as a kinship born from mutual understanding, a connection made that felt precious and permanent within her spirit. But beyond her feelings, the fact remained that Abelas had helped her heal. He had shown her truths about herself so that she could move beyond the pain of her past and the truth of her faith. She had never considered that she might never see him again, not while Halani had remained at her side. The thought of him sleeping forever made her chest constrict as if in a vice.

Halani looked at her quietly a moment, her eyes slowly tracing the expression on her face, whatever it might be. “Do you want to come with me?”

Ellya’s heart beat quicker and her brows furrowed. “I…” She trailed off, not quite knowing what to say, nor what she wanted. “Maybe. Would he want me there? I mean, would that be appropriate? I'm not one of you.”

Halani fiddled once more with the ties on her tunic. “I don't know.” She flicked her eyes up and looked at Ellya. “But I’d want you there.”

Forcing her shoulders to relax, Ellya stared into the fire. “I’ll think on it.” She took one last gulp of wine and then splayed her fingers across her knees to stand. “But first, we have a soiree to attend and then an opera with Josephine.”

The light refilled Halani’s eyes. Bouncing on her heels, she hastily put her cup down and smoothed her clothing. “Yes! The show! How short do you think we can make the mingling? Two hours?”

Chuckling at Halani’s returned exuberance, Ellya moved towards the door. “Maybe we can make it one.”

* * *

Ellya grinned as she settled next to Josephine in the theatre chairs. The air around the arena sparkled and boomed, filled with the flashing lights of fireworks and their shimmering trails. 

“So, this is what you call a calm night out?” She teased and watched as Josephine blushed and laughed. 

“Isn't it marvelous?” Her voice was a beam of energy and happiness, and Ellya relished seeing her most overworked advisor allowing herself at least a moment of selfish joy. 

“I think I'll need a program guide to follow it all, but yes, I've never seen anything like it.” Ellya opened the folded parchment in her lap before glancing at Halani on her right. She looked mesmerized, her eyes wide and her mouth agape as she stared into the colorfully exploding sky. 

As the actors entered the stage and the fireworks calmed, Ellya sighed. The Dalish had many revered storytellers, and some clans performed elaborate dances and plays around their great bonfires, but this was entirely different.The lighting. The costumes. Even the paints splashed across the wooden beams. All of it transformed the people below into something else, something more, and Ellya was transfixed. 

Just as the lead actor launched himself into an opening speech, Ellya felt a tap on her shoulder. Reluctantly pulling her eyes away from the man on stage and the jeweled peacock feathers of his costume, Ellya turned. A small elven servant stood behind her, bright copper hair poking out from beneath a simple back lacquered mask, and large ears, almost too big for her face, folding down as she bowed to Ellya with a demure frown. 

“Pardon the interruption, my lady,” the girl said, and leaned closer. “The Divine has requested your presence.”

Ellya’s brows furrowed, and she looked to Josephine and Halani, but both appeared as puzzled as she. 

“Now?” The actor’s raised tenor had grown silent and the orchestra began to play. 

The girl tensed, but shook her head. “I'm sorry, my lady, but she was insistent that you come right away.”

Sighing, Ellya began to rise from her seat, but waved her hand when Halani and Josehine tried to follow. “Please stay.” She touched Halani’s velvet covered arm. “You deserve to enjoy the show. You both do. I'll let you know what Leliana wants when I return.”

They both seemed reluctant, but Ellya left no room for argument and immediately slipped between the rows of seats and followed the servant out the door of the theatre. 

It didn't take long for them to reach their destination. They hurried down the marble-lined streets of the city, and across the palace gardens, ducking between topiaries and trellises as they went, until they came to a servant’s entrance at the back of the palace. It was little more than a dank cleaning cupboard that the servant led her to, and Ellya fought against the cold dread that swept swiftly into her gut.

“What’s going on?” She demanded and grabbed the servant by the arm. 

“I was told to bring you here, my lady.” Her voice was shaken, but not frightened. “It needed to be secret.”

Ellya grit her teeth, but let go of the girl’s arm. “Were you really sent by the Divine?”

The girl bobbed her head furiously. “Oh, yes! I promise. We would never deceive one of our own.”

Ellya seriously doubted that, but she didn't have to wait long for an answer. A tapestry on the far wall swung to the side, and Leliana, dressed in leathers rather than her ceremonial vestments, ducked beneath its tassels. 

“Ellya, hurry.” She beckoned her with a sweep of her arm and disappeared beneath the tapestry once more. 

Without a glance back towards the servant, Ellya pushed under the heavy fabric and followed Leliana down a long winding staircase into the bowels of the palace. 

“Leliana…” Ellya called out in warning as she descended stair after stair. “Where are you taking me?”

Leliana footsteps paused, and she looked over her shoulder. “There's something you need to see.”

Worry gnawed even more and spurred Ellya onward. They passed a fork in the hallway and turned left until they came to a cluttered space no bigger than a few paces across. Ellya’s eyes grew wide at the glowing eluvian that rested across the far wall, but it was the Qunari body at its base and Cullen and Cassandra at its side that caused her steps to halt. 

“Thank the Maker you're here,” Cullen said as he walked heavily to her side. “One of Leliana’s agents tracked his bloody footprints down here, but he wasn't alone. Look.” He gestured to the trail of red that oozed past the body and into the swirling lights of the mirror. 

Ellya stared wide eyed at the adornments on the slain Qunari, and brought a hand to her forehead. 

“Get Bull,” she said quietly and wiped the hand slowly across her face. “And Halani and Briala.”

She knelt down as Cullen raced through the entrance through which she had just come. Rifling through the contents of the dead man’s satchel, she pursed her lips as the dread in her stomach turned to stone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamael reveals his goal, while Arlassan Dreams.

The armor was smooth and slick beneath Abelas’ fingers, the oiled cloth in his palm a familiar weight. He turned his breastplate and inspected it in his hands. The golden sheen to the metal glowed in the flickering veilfire and showcased its beauty, as well as its new flaws. Scowling, Abelas turned the breastplate again and rubbed the oiled cloth across its surface. The dirt and grime that had accumulated from their journey through the underbrush sloughed to the temple’s floor with each stroke. Their progress south had been slow thus far, skirting many fledgling towns along the way, and the overgrown path on which they walked was tedious, but Abelas didn’t mind the delay save for the wear on his gear. Time had already taken its toll on him, and a few more weeks would make no difference.

Dropping the cloth to his side, Abelas held up his breastplate and let the blue luminance glide in brilliance across its front. The great golden armor had always been a beacon of light, a symbol of justice across all Elvhenan. Each dent and seam held a story and reminded him of his past. He stroked a finger along the clasps. The blessed armor of Mythal had seen him through many trials and protected him from many foes in service of his Goddess. 

Abelas frowned and eyed the multitude of new scratches across the side. It was almost impossible to imagine that the armor had once been new. Suddenly, its sheen seemed dull and each imperfection more pronounced. 

“It’s just a sheet of metal, Abelas.”

Tearing his gaze away from his task, Abelas placed the breastplate at his feet and looked towards the ruined archway where Tamael stood watching him. They had constructed a makeshift camp in the offering room of an old temple to Sylaise. It wasn’t much, but its sturdy walls and vine covered roof were better than the ditches and shrubs of the past few days

“You used to believe otherwise,” Abelas murmured with a shake of his head.

Tamael snorted and walked to his bedroll. “I used to be a fool.” His voice was full of tired disdain, but his words lacked conviction. They both knew the argument to be had. They had discussed it many times, and it always ended the same. Tamael did not respect nor believe in the grace of the Gods, and while it frustrated Abelas, he knew there would be no changing his mind. And he would rather their last few weeks be spent in peace.

“If not the Gods, then what course will you take? Will you give yourself over to the banal’vhen? Impart your wisdom to them.” Abelas smirked, unable to resist a contentious jab of his own.

Tamael narrowed his eyes. “Lay prostrate before the feet of your gods or fumble through the forests with our shadows?” He scoffed and threw a piece of kindling into the fire. “What a cruel fate those would be.”

Abelas bobbed his chin towards Arlassan’s sleeping form to his right. “And yet you will follow him, knowing where that path leads?”

The furrow in Tamael’s brow turned smooth, and his mouth curved into a half-smile. “Yes,” he whispered fondly, as if remembering that his son slept and he did not wish to disturb him, “the world has changed, and I’m afraid he doesn’t see it as readily as you or I. But it won't be forever. One day, he and I shall part as well.”

Nodding, Abelas glanced around the dark ruins of the temple. Tamael was right. The world had been irrevocably altered. The once ever-burning fires of Sylaise had been snuffed out along with all the rest. Vegetation had consumed the altars and stones, and rot sunk the offerings to ash. Once vibrancy and the heated coil of life had permeated each crevice, and now even the eluvian in the far corner sat blank and dull, its presence as superfluous as his own.

He sighed, an intense longing filling his body. “I fear that as well,” he murmured and cast his eyes between Tamael and Arlassan. “Arlassan Dreams and that is his nature to be different, even in our time. But, you should also exercise caution.”

Raising a shoulder in a shrug, Tamael cocked his head. “We’ll manage.” He cast a sidelong glance to Abelas. “Though, perhaps I should go to the banal’vhen.”

Abelas leaned back onto his elbows and quirked a brow in question.

A hardness settled across Tamael’s features, his face withdrawn. “We both know Arlassan means to reunite with Halani, and with her comes that Ellya and her people. I don’t relish the thought of walking among them and seeing such pathetic echoes of our time, but…” He paused and his fingers twined, as he looked intently into the flames of the campfire. “If I can stomach their sight, then maybe...maybe their mortality will claim me as well.” 

Abelas’ eyes grew wide. “Is that what you desire?” His voice was a shocked whisper. He knew Tamael did not long for the eternal slumber of uthenera, but he had no notion that he would wish a mortal existence, to completely eschew the very essence of their being. "Is that why you have forsworn the use of your magic?"

Tamael remained silent for several moments, his eyes locked on the fire and his fingers clenched in his lap. With a long swallow, he turned his head to face Abelas. “I was bound to your gods for centuries, betrayed by their cruelty and pettiness. Then, betrayed again by another’s false hopes.” His jaw clenched and in that moment Abelas could see every moment of grief upon his face. “What have I left besides a son who has no true need of me? Shall I toil forever in my bitterness, or wait for the pretenders as I sleep?” He lowered his gaze and pushed on his knees to stand. “No, a finite life and the promise of oblivion would be a kindness to all I have sacrificed.” 

Abelas opened his mouth to speak, but no words would form around the shock and sorrow of his thoughts. 

Tamael turned swiftly away, back towards the arched doorway. “You seek your idea of peace, and I seek mine.”

With that, he was gone, disappeared into the shadows of the ruins.

* * *

Abelas’ eyes felt heavy, but his body had no desire to sleep. He rolled onto his back on his bedroll and listened to Tamael and Arlassan’s gentle snores. 

His thoughts churned, both on the prospect of uthenera and on Tamael’s confession. He had always cleaved himself to his duty: to remain strong and protect those under his charge. It had been Mythal’s will, and to let go completely would be his final devotion. But an uneasy conflict settled across his mind. Turning to uthenera would not be easy when his people still lingered, broken in a broken world.

Across the campfire, Arlassan sighed in his sleep and tossed his head with a low moan. 

The sound made Abelas smile, and worked to soothe the morose pathways of his thoughts. No doubt Arlassan was once more seeking the company of his beloved in the Fade, and Abelas found a peaceful comfort in their love of one another. Through everything, it would be one that endured.

Abelas’ mind drifted to the woman Halani had followed, Ellya Lavellan: the Vessel of The Vir’Abelasan. He had often wondered how she fared, for Arlassan reported very little about her as the months had gone on since their parting. He thought perhaps his curiosity was duty bound, a concern for the power she harbored, but he could not deny the part of his mind that knew otherwise. For all they had clashed, she had intrigued him. Her mind and her magic had been so open to the knowledge he offered, but it was the rawness that drew him in. It filled her spirit almost as keenly as his own. He thought once to seek her out at Tarasyl’an Talas, as she had offered, but it had been a selfish desire, and as more Sentinels were laid to rest, the weight of time banished such ideas completely. Despite any wish he may have otherwise, her existence was inherently finite, and his own purpose within the world was over.

Arlassan murmured incoherently, and Abelas drew in a deep breath. It did not matter anymore. He would sleep, and Arlassan was more than capable of seeing to the wellbeing of Mythal’s inheritance. 

“No!”

Abelas and Tamael both startled at Arlassan’s scream. Reaching quickly for his dagger, Abelas bolted into a crouch, ready to fight whatever danger Arlassan had sensed. 

Arlassan sat up from his bedroll, sweat sticking his sheet to his body and tremors leaving his long braids in a tangled disarray. 

“What is it?” Tamael asked gently, as he hurried to Arlassan’s side and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. It was not the first time Arlassan had encountered a disturbance in his Dreams. 

Licking the dry cracks away from his lips, Arlassan touched the blue lines of vallaslin along his face. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured, his eyes twitching back and forth in the low light. 

“Halani?” Abelas asked, worry tightening his throat. 

“No.” Arlassan shook his head fiercely, but his gaze became distant, as if the room had become fogged and he strained to see. “The spirits are restless. Something stirs along their edge.”

Abelas looked to Tamael, his body tense, but he remained silent, waiting for Arlassan to explain. 

Tracing his vallaslin once more, Arlassan cocked his head. “Something is coming and they fear it. Or they rejoice?”

The cryptic cadence of his words set Abelas’ teeth on edge. Arlassan was known for his strange knowledge from his wanderings in the Fade, but the faraway look in his eyes and the grave pull of his face were something else entirely.

“It's...familiar,” Arlassan whispered, barely audible behind the quiet crackling of the campfire. His fingers raced over the branches across his forehead, harder, causing Abelas’ eyes to widen. 

“Mythal?” His voice came out a shuddering whisper, disbelief and hope straining his thoughts. 

Tamael stood swiftly, his posture rigid and ready to fight, but no further words were spoken. Across the small space, the unmistakable hum of ancient magic vibrated through the air and, before any of them could move, the eluvian resting against the wall sprang to life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellya steps through the eluvian and finds more than one shock waiting on the other side.

“You're sure?” Ellya stopped pacing and drummed her fingers against her hip as she looked to Iron Bull. 

“Yeah,” Bull replied as he stood from his examination of the dead Qunari’s body, “and it's not exactly good news. They'd never send him alone, or even in a small company.” He crossed his arms and looked at the still-glowing eluvian. “I'd guess there's a whole legion beyond that thing.”

Ellya huffed and looked to her advisors. “Then there's no choice.”

“It's too risky,” Cullen said with a frown. “You don't know how many are out there. And to get these mirrors working, who knows what kind of deals they made.”

“It's a good question.” Cassandra stepped closer to the eluvian and peered at its swirling depths. “But I agree with the Herald. We need to investigate.”

“Agreed.”

All eyes turned to the doorway at the new voice. Briala walked swiftly to their side, untying her mask as she went. 

Pursing her lips, Ellya took hold of Briala’s arm as she passed. “You said the eluvian network was under your control.” Her voice was strained, her tone colored by frustration and distrust. “How is it that a Qunari Ben-Hassrath is lying dead at its feet?”

Shaking off Ellya’s hold, Briala glared, but her eyes betrayed her worry. “I don't know,” she admitted before glancing warily at the corpse. “In truth, the eluvians stopped responding to me some time ago.”

Ellya clenched her teeth and almost hissed. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“What good would it have done?” Briala shot back, her voice sharp. “Clearly, someone has overridden my control. Should I have troubled you when I have no answers to provide?”

“I think your answers are obvious,” Cullen muttered and drew their attentions back to the situation at hand. 

“Perhaps,” Briala said and knelt down next to the Qunari, her eyes scanning his body with all the cold detachment and scrutiny of a former bard. “But if that’s true, then how did they let their guard be so easily slipped?”

“It does feel sloppy,” Bull said, and stroked his chin, “but there's no way to know for sure unless we follow their trail.”

Ellya turned to Leliana, who had remained mostly silent since her arrival. “The Council?” 

Rubbing her fingers together, Leliana shifted back and forth. “We can attempt to delay,” she offered, but her voice didn't sound confident. “I won't lie to you. Your every action is being watched, and to disappear for any length of time will be met with suspicion.” Her shoulders straightened and her hands went to her side. “However, we do have some leeway. Several dignitaries from both Ferelden and Orlais have yet to arrive, and Josephine is more than capable of distracting the nobles and making excuses. Perhaps a few days? A week and a half at most.” She looked pointedly at Ellya. “But if you value your power and your lands, and those of your friends, you cannot miss the Grand Council.”

“Understood,” Ellya responded with a quick nod of her head. She did not need to remind Leliana that power and lands were the least of her desires, so she ignored the comment. “Bull, will you accompany me?”

Reaching for the giant blade strapped to his back, Iron Bull laughed. “Did you really think I'd stay here and let you have all the fun?”

“Good,” she said with a smile and turned to Briala. “Can your people discreetly bring Halani and Varric here? And my armor?”

“Of course,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “But I trust you will keep me informed of your findings, yes?”

Ellya dipped her chin in agreement and watched as Briala hurried back down the dark hallway toward the stairs. 

* * *

Her fingers were deft as she snapped the last buckle of her breastplate closed and let it settle across her chest. Her pauldrons were a familiar weight, and the chain shirt beneath her woolen robes a nice reprieve from the nonstop finery and games of politics. Ellya didn’t want to go into battle again, and her nerves drummed restlessly across her skin, but she felt more at ease fighting a physical foe than trying to walk amongst shemlen nobility as if she belonged. Part of her hoped, too, that if she could discover the Qunari’s plot, then the southern nobility would let her go in peace. 

“Ready?” she asked Bull, Halani, and Varric, as she hefted her staff in both hands and twirled it to loosen the muscles in her shoulders. When the question was met with both nods of affirmation and the readying of weapons, Ellya turned to the still-glowing surface of the eluvian.

One breath out and she steadied her mind. Stepping forward, she raised a hand and suppressed a tremble as it slithered effortlessly through the mirror. Another breath and she moved her whole body past the swirls.

The air on the other side of the eluvian was thick and buzzed with the unmistakable pull and sway of magic. Ellya’s eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. It was almost a homecoming, a welcoming embrace, but she only allowed herself a moment to enjoy it. Halani was soon at her side, quickly followed by Varric and Iron Bull.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Varric muttered, and Ellya glanced at him, a brow quirked.

“Yeah, you say it’s not the Fade, but it damn well looks like the Fade. Creepy shit,” Iron Bull added with a full-body shudder of his own. “All the swirling shapes and washed out colors. Makes me think a damn demon’s going to jump out from every rock.”

Frowning, Ellya took in the space—The Crossroads, as Morrigan had called it. The last time she had been there, it had been a dim, foggy place with metallic trees and rows upon rows of eluvians. Now, though, light poured from an invisible source in the sky. Real trees sprouted along craggly floating paths of moss and stone, and vibrant colors of red and green and gold glittered across each surface. She opened her mouth to ponder the differences between what she saw and Bull’s description, but movement in the far left of her vision caught her attention.

“Look,” she whispered hastily and crouched behind a tall rock along their platform’s sheer edge. The others followed suit and turned their attention to where Ellya pointed. 

Four Qunari walked across a narrow path in the distance, their pace unhurried. They were too far away to discern their words, but the low rumble of their voices carried across the void.

“Scouts,” Bull muttered close to her ear. He squinted his eyes and paused. “Yeah, same company as the first one.”

Clenching her jaw, Ellya threw her gaze around the rest of the space. They would have to move as quietly as possible along the far right edge to reach the pathway, but large cavernous rooms of rock obstructed her view and made the exact way across unclear. She jutted her chin and waved her fingers to the right to signal Bull to take the lead. 

Quietly, he gripped the pommel of his broadsword with both hands and pressed into the shadows of the cliff. Halani and Varric hurriedly slunk to follow him, bow and crossbow at the ready. Ellya took a deep breath and kept her eyes on the Qunari in the distance, as she followed at the back.

They passed one vacant alcove and then two, a hidden eluvian dormant in each, but they pressed on, room to room and across four narrow floating bridges of stone. Ducking into a large domed room, Bull held up his hand and the group halted. More voices, two or three of them, sounded beyond the arched opening to their left, and the unmistakable clank of armored boots and weapons followed in their wake.

Ellya barely had the time to pull on her magic before they were upon them. Bull roared and rushed forward, surprising the first Qunari man who walked around the corner, while Halani, Varric, and Ellya melted back into the shadows of the rock wall.

_“Vinek kathas!”_

There were eight of them all together. Bull tried to create a choke point in the archway by swinging his blade against the axes of two Qunari warriors, but the entrance was too wide and the attackers too many. Three of them parried with Bull, their advances moving him ever sideways until he was pinned against the wall, and the remaining five burst through into the room. 

Halani and Varric scrambled higher, perching themselves on the tallest rocks and firing arrows as fast as they could. Two of the Qunari fell before reaching them, and a third lumbered forward with a bolt lodged in his gut, but the arrows were not enough. Halani pivoted in front of Varric and drew her daggers, while he jumped further to the side. 

Ellya cast and tried to maintain her barriers as best she could, but her own maneuvers were stopped short when the two remaining Qunari spotted her in the shadows. Quickly setting an immolation spell across one, she rolled to the side as the other charged and swung his axe for her neck. Her armor clattered against the stone floor, and she leapt out of way of the axe’s next swing, but by the time she recovered the first Qunari was no longer aflame. His charred and grizzled face scowled at her as he swatted at the dying embers across his leathers and lurched her way. 

Ellya’s heart raced and her brow broke with sweat. She dodged the thrust of the first Qunari’s blade and sent a blast of kinetic energy out from her mind to push them back. As the attackers stumbled to their knees, Ellya’s eyes raced around the room, the pull of her magic making her body feel heavy as she desperately cast another barrier on Bull, who had downed one opponent but struggled against two more, before turning to throw a fireball at the two Qunari that looked to overwhelm Halani.

Her reprieve was short lived. As soon as the fireball left her fingers, a quick movement barrelled toward her from the corner of her eye. One of the Qunari had recovered quickly and rammed a shoulder hard into her chest, sending them both toppling to the floor. 

Ellya kicked at the thick body that pinned her down, but his hips pressed hard against her knees, and he raised his arms to bring his sword down onto her head.

“Arrgh!” Ellya grunted and pulled on the very last vestiges of her mana, pushing her palms upwards until they landed on the Qunari’s face. Instantly, the smell of burning flesh and sulfur filled her nose. The Qunari lunged back, his voice a high-pitched wail, as he grappled at the smoldering and melted skin on his face. Ellya followed him and snatched the blade from his side to draw it quickly across his neck.

Blood spurted across her chest and arm at the messy kill, and she gagged in revulsion as some splattered into her mouth, but she didn’t have time to think on it. Dropping the Qunari blade, Ellya turned and faced her remaining foe. 

Ellya tried to glance at her friends, to help if she could, but the axe fell too quick. She almost didn’t see it in time to shift away. The blade clanged loudly against the rock next to her head, and was instantly drawn back for another swing, as the Qunari fell to Reaver bloodlust before her eyes. His skin pulsed angrily with red and he eyed her with rage. 

Her hands raised, but her magic sputtered. Her mana had been too drained and nothing more than a wisp of flame sprung from her fingertips. She glanced for her staff, but it was too far away, thrown recklessly against the floor as she had dodged her attackers. The Qunari roared and swung again, his axe coming in sideways toward her gut. She pressed herself to the stone and moss and tried to pivot away, but her body cried out in pain as she planted her foot, sore and battered from the fall with her last attacker, and she stumbled. The beard of the axe hooked sharply into her arm, and Ellya’s eyes went wide at the shock of it.

The tightly-woven chains of her mail held as much as they could, but more fell away to the sharpened stroke, and her skin split and bled. A bolt thunked into the Qunari’s back, but in his battle rage, it wasn’t enough. Desperate, Ellya raised her left hand and willed the anchor to do something, anything. It crackled and pulsed, drawing the ever near energy of the Fade to its side, and caused the Qunari to lose his footing. As his feet slipped and the green orb of the anchor’s blast pulled him away, he snatched at her throat and swung widely with his axe, the broadside of the handle connecting with her face. 

Ellya’s vision swam, and she dropped to her knees as the mark on her hand fizzled dormant once more. She could hear Bull yell for Varric to bring her attacker down, his own voice heavy with the panting breaths of battle. As the blood dripped from her nose and sweat matted her hair to her neck, Ellya willed her eyes to focus and scrambled her fingers for purchase. The buzzing in her ears seemed to slow time itself, and she blinked as she gasped for breath.

Hearing the thunk of another bolt, she rolled quickly to her side and tried to right herself. The Qunari hunched forward, two bolts embedded deep in his shoulder, and sprang from his knees as the rift Ellya had formed collapsed completely. Her eyes grew wide and her legs strained to stand. It would be too late. The axe glittered red with her blood, red as her attacker’s Reaver eyes, as he lunged, arcing it high over his head toward the vulnerable expanse of her neck.

“Halani!”

Ellya drew in a gasping breath as a strong barrier erected itself around her and a red-fletched arrow embedded itself into her attacker’s side. The axe skittered across the barrier’s surface and dropped heavily to the floor in the Qunari’s surprise. Not a moment later, a bolt of lightning flew across the space and pierced her attacker through his chest, jerking his body forward with an unnatural spasm.

“Arlassan?” 

Halani’s voice sounded, and Ellya scrambled to her feet, a dizzying blackness clouding her vision once more. A blur of gold dashed across her sight, and the sound of clashing blades filled her ears. She shook her head and wiped at the blood trailing across her lips. The blackness receded, but shock stilled her movements all the same.

They were no longer fighting alone. Sentinels had joined the fray, ones she knew. Tamael stood next to Bull against his last attacker and another, who she should only assume to be Arlassan, hurled his arm toward at the Qunari locking blades with Halani, grasping him in an invisible crushing prison.

But it was the third figure that spurred Ellya’s limbs to action. 

“Abelas?” she called, disbelieving, and reached for her fallen staff. 

He stood in the archway where her attackers had originated and met her gaze briefly before a spectral blade formed along his arm and he lunged toward the Qunari Reaver still engaged with Bull. Tearing her eyes away, she swung her staff and felt its inherent magic flow across her limbs and toward the last opponents. Severely outnumbered, the remaining two Qunari fell within moments, and a sudden silence filled the room.

The thunk of weapons dropping to the floor broke the stunned reverie. Stepping over her discarded daggers, Halani flung herself into Arlassan’s embrace. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice breathless.

“I could ask you the same,” came his hoarse reply, as he held her tighter. He stepped back and smoothed his hands over her body. “Are you hurt?”

Shaking her head, Halani glanced around at the dead Qunari. “No, just slightly bruised.” She attempted a smile, but the usual lightness in her eyes was absent. “I can’t believe how many blows it took to get them down.”

“It’s the dragon blood,” Ellya said, tearing her eyes away from their reunion and moving to where Bull stood. His arm dangled awkwardly at his side. “Some of them were Reavers.” Her gaze flicked uncontrollably toward Abelas, his presence still filling her body with shock, before she turned back to Bull. “You were amazing,” she said seriously and passed her right hand across the edge of a nasty gash along his stomach. “They could have gutted you.”

“Nah,” Bull said as he shrugged, “they fought hard, but not smart. Easy to beat an opponent who underestimates you.”

Smiling, Ellya reached for her belt and the healing potion stored there, but Arlassan, who looked so much like his father with his broad nose, sharply angled jaw, and long black braids, brushed by her side. 

“I can heal those,” he said, and his hand began to glow light green. He looked up to meet Bull’s eyes. “If you’ll permit me.”

As Bull nodded and Arlassan bent to begin his work, Ellya tucked the healing potion back into her belt, relieved at the mage’s skills, and looked heavily around at the dead Qunari. They were only a portion of the soldiers they would encounter.

“We were set upon by a small group of these things while we camped in an abandoned temple.”

Ellya looked up at Abelas’ words. He was frowning as he spoke, and his gaze swept over the corpses. 

“They came through an eluvian we thought idle,” he continued and took a step toward her. “We followed them through when they thought to retreat. It was a smaller party we pursued, but the sounds of battle drew us here.” Lips pursing, he closed the distance between them and reached to touch her cheek. “You are injured,” he stated, voice quieter, but drew back slightly when she winced against his touch.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him despite the pain. She felt like she’d been trampled by a herd of halla, but at least she was alive. “I just need a poultice.” Her left arm ached badly and, as she looked at it, she realized it still bled. Abelas followed her gaze and his frown deepened.

“Arlassan,” he said over his shoulder. He reached forward and gently cradled her injured arm in his hands.

“It can wait,” Ellya protested. “My friends and I need to keep moving.”

Despite her words, Arlassan moved to her side and took her arm from Abelas, placing his hands over her wound. Ellya sucked in a startled gasp as the familiar tug of healing magic itched and pulled on her arm. It was both overbearingly warm and painfully tingling, like a slumbering limb coming back to life. Soon, he let go and pressed his palm to her face. That process was quicker, if no less uncomfortable, but when he was done he stepped away.

“Ma serannas, hahren,” Ellya murmured and touched her cheek, the tenderness completely gone.

His lips slid into a lopsided smile. “My pleasure, lethallan.” 

As Arlassan dipped his chin and turned back to Halani, Abelas stepped close once again, his eyes still moving slowly over her form, inspecting. Ellya couldn’t think to speak past her confusion and wonder. She couldn’t believe he was actually there. She reached out and placed her palm against the glittering gold of his breastplate, smooth and hard beneath her fingertips. It was real. He was real. Abelas’ eyes darted back to hers at the touch.

“Boss! The trail leads this way,” Bull called from the entrance, drawing their attention. “I can see the mirror across the bridge. Still glowing.”

Ellya dropped her hand. Abelas shifted and looked like he wished to speak, but Tamael nudged him as he swept by their sides, followed closely by the others.

“We will talk later,” he murmured, his golden eyes intent before he looked away and stepped aside to join her friends.

Shaking herself, Ellya pushed to the head of the party. He was right. Talk of how and why their paths had so suddenly realigned could come later. Right now, she had a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to saarebitch and sirenfromspace for being my amazing betas! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions and old memories.

Abelas followed his companions across the narrow stone bridge. If not for the rote familiarity of battle willing his body forward, the shock of his situation would have rendered him completely still. He glanced at the back of Ellya’s head, and swiveled to take in Halani’s sweet features once more. Unexpected did not even begin to describe their presence in his midst, nor their place in The Twining Paths; though, he frowned when he realized the same could be said for the strange invaders. 

“Where do you think it leads?” 

Abelas peered forward, as the dwarf spoke with crossed arms and inspected the eluvian that leaned, glowing, between two tall bookshelves. 

Ellya paced in front of the metal frame, caution infusing her every step, but it was Tamael who answered.

“A place best forgotten.” His voice was tense and Abelas eyed him sharply. Tamael inched closer to the eluvian and trailed a hand across the edge. His lips twisted into a humorless smile, as if the mirror had imparted to him a cruel jest, and stepped back.

“You know it, then?” Ellya asked curiously.

Tamael shifted, his fingers playing absently along the spine of his bow. “It's more ruins, like all the rest.”

Ellya considered him for a moment, clearly wondering the extent of Tamael’s knowledge, but she turned back to eluvian with a sigh. “My friends and I are going through.” Her tone was tired, and she alternated her gaze between Tamael and the surface of the eluvian. “You may have been attacked by accident, but we weren’t. And I need to know why.”

Narrowing his eyes at her subtle dismissal, Abelas crossed his arms across his chest. “Our involvement may be coincidental, but I would be remiss if I did not attempt to seek out those who have attempted to desecrate this place. Our purposes are aligned.”

Her features remained hard, but the corner of her mouth ticked. “Well, I won’t turn away your help. I don’t really know how many of them we might face.”

Beyond the grim tension in her posture, a grateful half-smile teased her lips as she turned back toward her friends. So stark was the difference from the last time he had seen her that Abelas could not help but be drawn back to his memories of her at the Temple of Fen’harel. There, she had been sickly and weak, her body frail under the continual assault of her mind. Now, though, it was as if she had been reborn, resplendent, before his eyes. A fullness and surety seeped into her form, her limbs and face no longer gaunt and withdrawn, and her eyes shone with intensity, even in their worry. She dipped her chin as she talked, and for the barest second her gaze flicked to his. In that moment, Abelas felt their unspoken connection clearly, no longer buried by months of distance and time apart.

“ _Revas’an_ ,” Tamael muttered to him and drew close.

Abelas’ lips parted. “Truly?” he asked with a raised brow, as he watched the others inspect their gear.

“I’m sure of it,” Tamael responded with a grimace.

The Valley of Freedom. The sanctuary of the rebellion. Abelas had never ventured there himself, for his duty was bound elsewhere, but he knew its history nonetheless, and he finally understood the bitter bite to Tamael’s voice.

He reached out a hand to place it on Tamael’s elbow. “You need not go forth.”

The look Tamael gave him would have ordinarily made Abelas laugh, so withering in its intent, but now it only made Abelas frown.

“Don’t coddle me, Abelas.” With a swift shrug of his arm, he freed himself of Abelas’ touch and pulled away.

Abelas clenched his jaw, but did not follow him. 

“Iron Bull, perhaps you should go first this time.” Ellya had marshaled the rest of the group to her side and her words brought him back to the immediate situation. 

“Right,” the large horned man replied, even as Abelas stepped forward.

“I will accompany him,” he stated, “The _Dirth’ena Enasalin_ makes me the reasonable choice for vanguard.”

“Alright,” she said with an appraising glance and turned to the others. “Halani, Tamael, Arlassan, you follow close behind. Varric and I will take up the back. Stay as close as you can and be ready as soon as your vision clears.”

Stiffening with a scowl, Tamael looked to him. Whether his ire was from Ellya’s order or the destination that lay before them, Abelas did not know, but he nodded his head in assurance and lined himself up behind the hulking form of The Iron Bull.

In the end, they needn’t have worried. When Abelas sprung through the eluvian, spectral blade sprouting from his arm, there was nothing waiting but an eerie silence. His eyes slowly took in the space: a round room no bigger than ten paces across with high cutout windows and a broken staircase off to the right. As the others began to emerge at his back, he nodded at Iron Bull and moved as quietly as possible to the top of the stairs.

“There’s nobody here,” Halani whispered, her voice thick with confusion and no little amount of relief.

“No,” Abelas answered and crouched to inspect the stones. “But they were.” Dust clung to most of the walls and crevices within the floor, but the stairs had been disturbed. The telltale signs of booted footprints shown out clearly amongst the grime.

He glanced over as Ellya bent at his side. “Yes, there,” she whispered and pointed to a small splatter of blood along the base of the rail. Her head jerked up, and she placed a hand on his knee. “And listen.”

Abelas cocked an ear. “Voices,” he murmured.

“And fighting,” Tamael said, as he slid to the wall beside them.

Abelas watched as Ellya bit her lip, her small fingers still splayed absently against his knee, as she considered their next move.

“Do you know the way?” Abelas asked quietly over his shoulder toward Tamael. If he did not wish to be coddled, then Abelas would use his knowledge to their advantage.

Furrowing her brow, Ellya glanced first at him and then Tamael before standing. “I take it these aren't just ruins to you,” she stated, positioning herself to look into Tamael’s face.

“Unfortunately not,” Tamael answered. His tone was full of disdain, but Abelas knew it was only a show, a clever display to mask the pain. “I once told you of my place in Fen’Harel’s rebellion.” He gestured toward the stairwell as Ellya’s face blanched with comprehension. “Well, now you stand in its heart. He created this valley for the freed slaves to be a safe harbor from the gods.” Tamael’s eyes were hard when they returned to Ellya’s face. “You can imagine how safe it turned out to be in the end.”

Grimacing, Abelas stood and eyed the others. Varric and The Iron Bull were looking on with startled interest, the grip on their weapons unceasingly tight.

“Are there strongholds?” Abelas asked, moving the matter to more immediate concerns. “Places where these creatures may lay in wait?”

“They’re called Qunari.” The Iron Bull glared at him with his one eye. 

A muscle in Abelas’ jaw ticked, but he chose to ignore the rebuff.

“Who knows what time has done to this place,” Tamael said darkly before moving to the stairwell and glancing out toward the open sky. “We’re in the western tower. There are two others, only navigable by eluvian, if they’re still active.” He turned to Abelas. “There are other pathways in the battlements across the bridge.”

Abelas nodded and looked at Ellya. 

Hefting her staff, Ellya moved to Tamael’s side. “Then let’s go.”

Abelas gestured to Tamael and they took the first winding steps down into the tower together, The Iron Bull and Ellya close at their backs.

Luckily, the eluvians had remained intact. However, their path from tower to tower was not without incident. The fortifications had been crippled, but many of the defenses had been mysteriously renewed, defenses that did not differentiate between friend and foe. They toiled for hours against the tedious puzzles and hidden doors that attempted to bar their way across. Even with Tamael’s help, the journey was long and the sun had crept low below the horizon before they had even reached the third tower. 

Beyond the physical toll of their work, Abelas could not ignore the effects of the ruins on his mind. Ever since leaving the Temple of Mythal, he had felt like a shadow, a wisp of a nightmare meant to linger in places where only memory remained, and the ruins of this valley brought only the same. He tried to look away, to focus on his task and the ever-growing sounds of the Qunari invaders, but each step into yet another dilapidated room filled him with a silent, angry despair. Murals lay slashed across the stone walls, tables and carvings rotted under the swell of time. He glanced at Tamael and Arlassan in turn. The rigidness of their gaits and the clench of their hands told him all he needed to know. They and this place were nothing more than the leftover scars of another time.

“This will lead us to the bridge across,” Tamael said, as they finally approached a third eluvian, one that stood separate and overlooked the vastness of the valley below.

“Good,” Ellya said as she cast her eyes toward the stars across the sky, “maybe the night will at least cover our approach.”

As before, The Iron Bull pressed through first, followed by Abelas and the others. He had not expected to be flung straight into battle on the other side, but the absence of foes was unnerving all the same. Still, as the others filtered through the eluvian at his back, Abelas could hear them, the voices and clash of weapons sounding nearer than before. They had crossed the whole of the valley in one step, and he knew at least part of his quarry would be moments away.

A sudden gasp turned Abelas’ attention around. He took a step forward, his eyes wide, as Ellya doubled over behind him. The green rays of Fen’Harel’s mark arced wildly across her palm, and she clutched it to her chest. 

“Boss?” The Iron Bull leaned toward her, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder, but Ellya flicked her wrist in dismissal. 

“I’m fine,” she answered and shook her head, “just a surge like before. It’ll pass.” 

Abelas frowned at her nonchalance and admittance that the occurrence was not a first, but swallowed his worry when a new sound reached his ears. 

Words. His words, and those of his people. Words of greeting.

Tamael jerked at his side and Abelas knew he had heard it, too. Without a glance at the others, they sprinted forward, down the long length of the bridge.

If hearing such perfect Elven had been a shock, nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted them at the bridge’s end. Five warriors stood before him. They were Sentinels like himself, or at least they were at one time. Now, they stared at him through the eyes of spirits, their bodies no more than ghostly vestiges of the corporeal form they once beheld. The tallest amongst them, a Champion to his eyes, stepped forward.

“ _Athish’all valem_ ,” he spoke, his voice soft and calm, and Abelas could do nothing more than stare. “ _Fen’Harel elathadra. Nuvenas mana helanin. Dirth bellasa ma._ ”

“Friends of yours?” 

Abelas could not remove his gaze to glower at Varric’s inapt words, as the rest of their party reached them, but he did not have to. Ellya moved forward to stand at his side.

“No.” Her voice was hushed and awed. She glanced at him briefly before stepping directly into the Champion’s path. “ _Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir’anaris._ ”

Startled at the fluent Elven coming from Ellya’s lips, Abelas turned to look at her, but he supposed he should not have been surprised. Her eyes were far away and glazed, looking toward the warriors, but not quite seeing them all the same. It was The Vir’Abelasan speaking, or at least its knowledge pouring forth through her lips.

“ _Amae lethallas._ ” The spirit bowed his head, and Ellya’s face twitched, broken from her spell.

“It was a ritual, I think,” she said with a furrowed brow and turned to her friends.

“Yes,” Tamael supplied and eyed her. “A secret greeting for those under Fen’harel’s trusted employ.” He turned a critical eye back at the spirits. “What a cruelty to be bound to this place.” His words were murmured, but Abelas heard them all the same. 

Taking a step forward, Abelas spoke to the remaining spirits, his kin. “ _Sahlin belir na harillen?_ ”

The Champion considered him. His glassy, pupilless eyes bore into Abelas’ own. “ _Bel’din, n’enasalin las din’an._ ” He tilted his head. “ _El’harillen, lethallin._ ”

“ _Ma ghilana him var halani._ ” Abelas’ words were spoken fiercely. He looked at the spirits and saw himself, an alternate life where he, or Tamael and Arlassan, might have been bound in another way, to another God. 

“You want to translate, Kindling?” Varric’s words broke his focus and forced his attention back to the group.

It was Ellya who answered him, the endearment obviously meant for her. “I think Abelas asked after the Qunari,” she said and looked at him uncertainly. 

“Yes,” he affirmed and, without another thought, called forth his spectral blade, “I offered our help in being rid of them.”

The Iron Bull’s roaring laughter rolled over him and the party coalesced, drawing their weapons and settling into a loose formation. The Champion nodded his head and lead them forth.

Abelas’ whole body hummed and pulsed as he raced with his kin down a fork in a long hallway. The tedious journey through the ruins of the tower had set him on edge and honed him with anticipation. Now, he could finally let loose the frustration he had been holding at bay. He practically overflowed with the comfort of familiar purpose: protect the sanctity of this place —drive back those who would do it harm. 

Within the next step, the Qunari came into view. Dozens of them overflowed balconies and alcoves, fighting in every available space across a large rectangular room. The spirit warriors had engaged them in battle, but their latent magic was obviously failing, their translucent forms flickering weakly in and out of existence.

The calmness of divine rage settled through him, and Abelas did not hesitate as he lunged forward with his blade, hurtling down the entrance stairwell toward three Qunari at its base. A ball of fire and a red arrow flew past his shoulder, hitting one of his targets in the chest and bringing them down. Swiveling, Abelas erected a barrier across his body and twirled around the remaining two attackers. They were large and their reach vast, but he was quicker. His blade easily cleft their flesh in two, sending them to the ground, even as four more took their place. Arrows flew wildly across the space, and his barrier shuddered against their attack, but Abelas paid them no mind. He pressed himself further, drawing on all his training and years of battle to outmaneuver his foes.

The Iron Bull flashed past him, followed closely by Tamael and Halani. Kicking one attacker in the gut and piercing another with his blade, Abelas spun and cast a strong barrier on Ellya and Varric at the top of the stairs, as they picked off the Qunari trying to hide in the rafters above.

A breach in his own barrier and a scraping blow across his back sent Abelas to his knees. His armor held, but his breath left his lungs in a wheezing exhale as his stomach hit the floor. Rolling to his back, Abelas grunted and dodged the axe that swung for his face. He barely had time to gather his magic once more, before a flash of purple darted across his gaze. The Qunari fell back, stumbling to the ground as the Spirit Champion swung his massive mace into their sides.

“ _Teth a! Gaatlok!_ ”

The shout reverberated across the room, and Abelas leapt to his feet. The Qunari were running, trying to retreat to the back of the room. A few remained, obvious sacrifices to allow the others to regroup, but the rest pooled toward the back stairs and the high dais chamber above. Abelas took a step forward, intent on ridding the space of such defilers, but an arm around his waist stopped his movements short. Ellya pushed her way around him.

“Get cover!” she shouted and slapped her palm against his chest to urge him back, before running headlong toward the center of the room. 

Abelas’ eyes widened, unsure of her intent. His foot moved forward to follow her, but Iron Bull appeared at his side. “Do as she says unless you want to get crushed in a rift or blown to pieces!”

That was all the warning he got. Abelas stared, mesmerized, as Ellya planted her feet and raised her left hand toward the retreating backs of their foes. Arrows from the remaining Qunari flew toward her, but they bounced away as the glowing green light of the mark on her palm grew and engulfed her. All breath left his lungs as the air seemed to shift and crack around him. The impenetrable force of the cursed Veil grew impossibly heavy against his mind, as he ducked behind a pillar, weighing him down until his legs almost gave way beneath its force. But then the air went aflame, the weight replaced by the burning intensity of the Fade as the Veil was suddenly gone.

Abelas fell against the pillar, the sensation of the full force of his magic ripping across his body a painful euphoria, but it was short-lived. He glanced back to where Ellya had stood as the shrieks of the Qunari filled his ears. The energy had coalesced into a single angry point, sundering the world like a greedy maw that consumed all those who passed within its reach. Whatever the Qunari had planned, they would no longer have the chance.

It was over within moments. The rift collapsed and Ellya along with it. Varric and Iron Bull were the first to recover. They swiftly charged the remaining few Qunari, those who had tried to take shelter in the balconies, while Abelas shook his trembling body into movement. Raising an unsteady hand, he cast a barrier around Ellya’s kneeling form as she tried to push herself to her feet and fend off the last two Qunari who ran her way. Tamael’s arrows and Arlassan’s force magic downed them before they even got close.

With the last of the attackers gone, Abelas picked his way over the fallen bodies toward the raised dais.

“I will never get used to that,” Varric said and helped Ellya to stand.

“You’re telling me.” Her eyes traveled over the room. “Everyone all right?”

“Same as usual,” Iron Bull replied with a grunt. 

Taking his gaze away from Ellya and the terrible power she had displayed, Abelas glanced around the inner sanctum. It truly was a last testament to Fen’Harel. A giant wolf statue rested at the center and intricate paintings lined the high walls, each obvious in their depiction: freedom—the Dread Wolf removing the vallaslin and offering hope to the slaves. It made Abelas’ face itch to look at it.

“It’s beautiful,” Halani said as she slowly walked toward one of the frescoes. 

“Let’s go.” Ellya’s tone was sharp, and Abelas did not have to wonder the source of her agitation as he turned his eyes to her. He remembered full well the memories she held of Fen’Harel, her one time friend and lover. They were memories she had unwittingly shared with him. 

Ellya shuffled to the statue and appraised it with a considering eye. “There could be an eluvian somewhere close.”

“Boss,” Iron Bull said, his voice cautious but firm, “you've been going all day and you won't be able to fight fresh bodies if you push it too hard.” He crossed his arms as Ellya turned on him with a frown. “And I won't be much good either. I say we search the bodies and then make camp.” 

Her gaze was hard as Ellya looked around, scrutinizing both the dead Qunari that littered the floor and the health of her companions. While Abelas could see the determination in the steady set of her jaw, he could also see the exhaustion. 

He glanced at the spirit warriors that lingered on the other end of the room. “Sleep would be wise for us all,” he said. “I will speak with the Guardians. They can watch while we rest.”

Abelas watched the shift in Ellya’s features, a subtle resignation and acceptance of their plan. 

“Alright,” she said and leaned against her staff, “a few hours, but no more. I don’t want to stay here too long.” She turned to Iron Bull and Varric. “Look for any information that might be useful.”

“Already on it.” All eyes turned to Varric as he spoke. He held up a folded and torn piece of parchment. “Looks pretty official. Was on the big guy here.” Shrugging toward the dead Qunari on the floor, Varric held the letter out for Ellya. 

“What does it say?” Halani asked as Ellya tore open the waxed seal. Everyone held still as they waited for Ellya to read.

“It’s in Qunlat,” she replied, shaking her head. “Bull?”

The Iron Bull quickly took the parchment and scanned it, his face growing more and more grave as the seconds passed. His fingers curled, almost crumpling the letter, as he looked up. “Ellya…” There was no mistaking the dread within his voice, a clear portent of bad news. “They’re getting their people in position to attack Halamshiral. A shit ton of them, beyond these Shock Troopers. They were just the advanced party.” 

Abelas’ gaze darted to Ellya at the news. He didn’t understand completely the implications of the letter, but the way Ellya’s eyes widened and her body tensed told him all he needed to know. 

“Fenedhis,” she hissed under her breath before turning to pace. “We need to tell Briala and others. Every leader in Southern Thedas is there.” 

“Boss, there’s more.”

Ellya stopped her movements to stare at Iron Bull.

“It…” he began again with a hesitant stutter. “It says they’re tracking an unknown agent. A hooded mage who brought those purple things back to life.”

“What?” It was Tamael who spoke, his voice barely above a deadly whisper.

Iron Bull ignored him and stepped closer to Ellya. “Could it be Solas?”

Abelas’ own heart constricted, even as Ellya’s face paled. No one said a word for the span of several seconds.

Blinking rapidly, Ellya shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll deal with that as it comes.” Abruptly, she pivoted toward the stairs and hurried across the dais. “Keep searching the bodies. I’ll find us somewhere to rest.”

* * *

The halls were quiet. The valley ruins once more returned to their silent vigil, as most of its occupants slept. Abelas tread carefully across the stone slabs of the inner sanctuary, his feet leading him past the murals that glowed in the flickering veilfire, and made his way toward the barracks. His mind did not desire rest, too disturbed as it was by the day’s events, but his body protested. Even the best of Arlassan’s spirit healing could not allay the simple need for the rejuvenation of sleep.

Shucking off his cloak, Abelas padded into the sleeping quarters: a narrow room with several cots lined haphazardly along the wall. Tamael had scoffed off rest hours ago and had disappeared into the ruins, but the others slept soundly, the snores and heavy breathing of worn combatants filling the space and reminding Abelas of home. Making his way toward the back corner of the room, Abelas smiled as he passed Arlassan and Halani lying face to face in their sleep with their fingers intertwined. 

With a creak of his greaves, Abelas sat down on an empty cot and glanced at the woman sleeping quietly to his left. The braid that had sat so tightly around her crown had been loosed, and her hair fell in messy waves around her shoulders and arms. One leg curled toward her chest, while the other dangled carelessly toward the floor. It was Ellya’s face, though, that captured his attention most. Long gone were the hardened lines of battle and serious determination before a foe. In slumber, her features found peace. Only the gentle downturn of her mouth remained. He felt almost ashamed to watch her when she was so unaware of his attentions, but, in the shock of seeing her again, he could not force his gaze away.

Abelas wet his lips and leaned back, afraid he would reach out to touch her in his quiet reverie. His spirit felt unsettled. Uthenera had been the reasonable course, and he had resigned himself to it long ago. But as the Qunari had burst forth into his camp, he had felt greed wash over him like a thrashing tide. He had flung himself, unabashed, at the feeling of purpose, of usefulness, and the lingering spark of meaning it had produced left him conflicted. He felt paralyzed, as his eyes moved from the crackling mark in her hand to her closed lids and parted lips, and couldn’t help but wonder if their meeting had been more than coincidence, if perhaps she had been set forth across his path with divine intent.

Ellya stirred then, her chest expanding with a deep inhale, as she rolled languishly onto her back and stretched. Abelas quickly withdrew his gaze and fiddled with the clasps of his gauntlets.

“What’s the hour?” 

The soft, sleepy tone of her voice paused his motions, but Abelas did not look up. “You have time yet to rest,” he whispered. 

A long silence answered his words, and Abelas thought perhaps Ellya had simply returned to her slumber, but when he raised his head, he found her eyes staring back at him, half-lidded but fully alert.

“You’re really here.” Her voice was barely a murmur of words, and by the faint blush that spread across her cheeks, Abelas was sure she had not meant to speak such thoughts aloud. She could not know that his mind echoed the same.

Ellya cleared her throat and shifted, rising until she sat with her knees tucked to her chest. 

Abelas worked his jaw. Now that they had been afforded the moment alone he had sought, he found there was both too little and too much to say.

“I did not think to see you again,” he finally whispered.

Smoothing her hands down the blanket across her legs, Ellya bit her lip and looked him over. “I hoped you would, if only to say goodbye.”

Abelas swallowed. He wasn’t sure why, but her words left him feeling hollow. Looking down, he returned to unfastening his gauntlets. “Did we not already have one goodbye?” he asked, his tone harsher than he meant.

Unfurling her legs, Ellya leaned over the side of her cot. “Halani told me what you're planning to do.”

He looked up, not surprised that Halani had shared such information with her, but uncertain at Ellya’s feelings on the matter. “And that grieves you?” he asked slowly.

“I thought…” She paused and turned her eyes away, another silence stretching between them. “Yes,” she finally continued, “I would be sad if you were gone.”

With a regretful sigh, he looked over the features of her face once more. “You are very young,” he said, his voice softening to a gentle murmur. “Perhaps not to your kind, but your existence is but a blink to the span of my years. Even at your eldest, it would be near impossible for you to comprehend the weariness brought about by centuries of servitude. Or the pain of having to endure when all that you love has been lost. It is a mourning that cannot be explained. In uthenera, I would find peace.”

The heaviness of his spoken thoughts hung clearly between them, and Abelas clenched his jaw to prevent more from leaving his lips. He had not meant to speak so freely to her, baring the heart of his pain, but his words spilled forth all the same. 

“I know,” she said softly, causing Abelas to frown. His heart skipped as she slowly stood and moved to sit at his side. “They speak of a shared sorrow that I often forget isn't one with my own.” She glanced at him while rubbing her forehead. “But I understand the burden of your grief, Abelas, if not the magnitude.”

Comprehension dawned across his thoughts. “Yes, Ishala spoke to me of your people, your clan.” His mouth stumbled over the word. “I cannot pretend to understand the nature of such bondings, but I know how keenly you felt their loss.” His mind swept back to the cleansing ritual at the Temple of Fen’harel and to how Ellya had wept ceaselessly in his arms as she had emerged from the water’s depths. “Perhaps, to you, my longing does not need to be explained.”

A sad smile pressed across Ellya’s lips, and she tucked her legs beneath body. She did not speak, but instead extended a hand to thread her fingers within his own—a simple, undemanding offer of comfort.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly and leaned toward him. “I...” Her words hitched and Abelas dipped his chin to see her face more clearly. “The Qunari are easy. They’re just another enemy to be vanquished, hopefully the last, but if Solas is truly here…” She met his gaze and her fingers curled tighter around his own. “The others may know why I both dread and anticipate the possibility of seeing him again, but you’ve seen it. Felt what I felt. You understand.”

The admission itself was soft, but the sound of it reverberated in Abelas’ ears. Without thinking, he brought a hand to her cheek and traced a finger across her jaw. “You need not fear. I will go with you to him.” Abelas drew his hand away and let it fall back to his lap.

A lump caught in his throat at the rawness of emotion across her face.

“Your mark,” he whispered abruptly, something to shift the conversation, “its power feels changed.”

Letting go of his fingers, Ellya turned her palm in her lap. “Yes,” she said with a grave nod, “it’s begun to grow restless.” She snapped her fingers shut around the pulsing green light. “But I’ll be fine.”

Abelas eyed her, critical of such a statement, but he did not press her further. Instead, he tucked a stray curl of her hair behind her ear. “You should rest.” He suppressed a smirk when she opened her mouth, clearly about to protest. “And I shall do the same. Our troubles can wait.”

Sighing, Ellya stood and moved back to her own cot. 

“ _Elgara vallas, melava somniar._ ” 

Abelas turned his head at Ellya’s whispered words, confusion and surprise furrowing his brows.

“ _Dirthara lothlenan’as. Bel emma mala dir,_ ” she murmured louder and lay down onto her side. “The words of a Dalish lullaby.” A smile splayed out across her lips as she closed her eyes. “Sweet dreams, Abelas.” 

In the flickering torchlight, he watched over her until the steady rise and fall of her chest told him she had fallen back to slumber. Sweet dreams had never come easily to him, but in that moment, Abelas did not mind being the guardian to ensure hers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellya overhears an upsetting conversation, and the party ventures into the Deep Roads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to my beta sirenfromspace and saarebitch. I couldn't have done this without you. Sorry for the delay in chapters, but I was moving to a new state. I hope to update this more regularly again soon.

“Ellya.”

A hand pushed on her shoulder, shaking her from the dark comfort of sleep.

“Ellya, wake up.”

Groaning, Ellya rolled onto her back and pushed the hair out of her face. She blinked against the dryness of her eyes and grimaced up at Halani’s face.

“I’m up,” she mumbled and drew in a deep breath. The few hours had not been enough to restore her, but they would have to do. 

“Here, I brought you some hot tea.” Halani pushed a steaming cup toward her, as Ellya stretched and sat up. “Arlassan made it.”

A grateful smile spread across Ellya’s lips. “Thank you.” She gently took the tea and blew on its surface as Halani stood. Glancing around, she found she was the last to wake. Arlassan and Varric were quietly conversing across the room and strapping their own gear into place, but the rest of her companions were gone. Turning to her right, she looked at Abelas’ cot with a frown. It stood empty, as seemingly untouched as when she had first fallen asleep. 

Letting her tea cool, Ellya stood and dressed. She wove her hair into a thick braid at the back of her head and pinned it high to keep it from being a hindrance in battle. She was in the middle of adjusting her pauldrons when Iron Bull entered the room.

“Morning,” he said cordially as he moved swiftly to her side, but Ellya could tell by the grim set of his mouth that he had something unpleasant to tell her.

“What is it?” she asked plainly and buckled the last few fastenings of her armor.

Sighing, Iron Bull held up a piece of parchment. “Found this on one of the Ben-Hassrath in the upper levels.” He drew a finger across the images as he unfolded it. “It’s a map. All the mirrors they’re using.”

Ellya’s brows rose. “That’s good news.” She took the parchment from his hands and scanned it over.

“Not really,” Bull responded with a tired exhale. “There’s dozens of mirrors. I don’t think we can search them all before they carry out whatever it is they got planned.”

“Maybe we could ask Tamael?” she mused quietly. “He was a spy, and he seemed to know where at least one eluvian lead just by looking at it. And you know the Qunari. Perhaps together we’d know where to start?”

Iron Bull made a grunting sound and Ellya looked up with a smirk. “Believe me, I know.” She shook her head and laughed. “I can ask him myself. Do you know where he is?”

“Yeah,” Iron Bull said and nodded. “Last I saw, he was skulking around those paintings in the main room.”

The middle of her brow pinched together at Bull’s words, but Ellya nodded and folded the map in her hands. “Thanks, Bull. Get some breakfast if you haven't already. I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

Picking up her staff, Ellya made her way to the door, nodding to Varric and Arlassan as she passed. 

The path back to the large rectangular chamber wasn't a long one. Ellya’s steps were quick as she ducked down two small hallways and made her way to the base of the dais stairs. The spirit warriors, or Guardians as Abelas had called them, still patrolled, but after their initial greeting, they had not spoken a word to her or any of the others, save Abelas and Arlassan. She acknowledged them as she passed, but they stared right through her, as if she were as ghostly to them as they to her.

“Abelas, you can't be serious.”

Tamael’s low words brought Ellya to a halt at the bottom step. She could not see him, nor Abelas, but the vicious tone of his voice made her pause. 

“It is a reasonable path.” Abelas spoke smoothly, seemingly unaffected by Tamael’s disdain. 

“No,” Tamael replied, his hurried steps slapping loudly against the stone floor. “There is nothing reasonable about wanting to follow him.”

Ellya shifted as Abelas sighed. She felt slightly guilty at not announcing herself, but she stayed her voice. 

“Perhaps your history clouds your judgement on this matter,” Abelas said lowly, his tone cautious but not unkind.

“My history? Just mine?” Tamael scoffed. “Are you really so blind in your grief?”

She eyed the map in her hand and moved her foot moved forward as Abelas spoke. 

“The other Gods…”

“They are all to blame!”

Ellya startled at a loud clanging, something thrown across the room. Hurriedly, she pressed into the shadows of the railing. 

“You’ve seen it, Abelas! How many dead have lain at your feet? How many children buried in your temple’s walls because of what the pretenders did?”

“ _Venavis!_ ” Abelas’ voice rang out in angry clarity, and Ellya’s eyes went wide. 

“No! I won't stop!” Tamael shouted. “We were betrayed! He said he would save us and instead he robbed us! You know what we lost, Abelas! You know!”

A ripple of magic rumbled through the air and a greater explosion sounded from above. Ellya ducked as stone debris flew past her head. 

“Of course I know!” Abelas roared, before casting his voice to a deadly whisper. “You think I do not feel it as keenly as you? That I do not see the pain within these halls? That you are the only one who wishes oblivion from the sorrow that permeates our every breath?”

“Then why would you go to him?” Tamael snapped, even as Ellya’s hand went to her mouth to stifle her shock. “He is nothing but false promises!”

“You heard Arlassan,” Abelas said roughly. “And someone has awakened this place. If he is calling our people, seeking to give us a new purpose, I must know.”

There was an uneven break to Abelas’ voice, and Ellya’s heart clenched at the sound of it. She very suddenly felt like an unwelcome intruder, despite her desire to hear their feelings on Solas. Silently, she started to back down the steps. 

“You will not like the price,” Tamael stated. “Look at them, Abelas. They said the same words when they gave him their vallaslin. They wanted a new life and a new purpose, too. Instead, they were destroyed.”

“Then turn back.” Abelas’ voice was cold and distant. “You need not stay.”

“What of Arlassan? And Halani?” Tamael countered, pushing past Abelas’ dismissal. “Will you throw them at the feet of the Dread Wolf, too? Have them follow him to their death?” 

Ellya’s steps stilled. Hearing Abelas draw in a deep breath, she realized she wanted to know his answer. 

“I do not set their paths, just as I do not set yours.” His voice was a weary resignation.

“And what of your woman?”

Sudden silence filled the air, and Ellya’s heart skipped. 

“My woman?” Abelas whispered, his tone sharp. 

“I’m not a fool, Abelas, and neither are you,” Tamael muttered. “I know you care for her, but her power belongs to him. What if to do as you want, he needs it back?” Tamael paused and Ellya’s eyes flicked to the anchor. “Are you willing to watch as he uses her at his side or in his bed? Or will you help him rip the power from her dead body if she won't do as he asks?”

“Enough.” The word was quiet, but no less powerful in its command. 

She had heard too much. Ellya swallowed and turned around, wishing nothing more than to flee. 

“He loved her,” Abelas continued, and Ellya’s stomach dropped. “He will not harm her.”

Tamael sighed. “He holds no boundaries in what he deems necessary. Not even the people he claims to love.”

A long silence followed. 

“You’re my closest friend,” Tamael said quietly, his voice no longer harsh. “I wouldn't have you repeat my mistakes.”

“Let us deal with these invaders.” Abelas’ reply was straightforward and devoid. He was a commander once more. “I will make you no promises.”

The sound of footsteps hurried closer, and Ellya scrambled into the nearest alcove. Digging her left palm into her robes and sinking further into the shadows, she watched as Abelas walked briskly across the room and back toward the barracks. He had pulled up his hood, but his anger and disquiet were clear in the rigid hold of his back and the stiffness in his gait. 

Ellya leaned heavily against the wall. Her chest hurt, like all the air had been ripped from her lungs. Everything she feared about confronting Solas had been laid bare by Tamael. He would want to use her, had always been using her, and she held little hope that whatever love he had for her would make a difference. And she didn't even want to think about the pain that had settled in her heart at the thought of Abelas helping him.

Taking a shaky breath, Ellya crumpled the map in her hand. She couldn't afford to be weak. Her fears would only blind her if she let them, and the Qunari still needed to be dealt with. Thoughts of Solas would have to wait. 

Steadying herself, she left the alcove and walked up the stairs. When she reached the top, her mouth fell open. Tamael stood at the center of the room, facing the wolf statue. A table lay overturned at his back and the copper offering bowls were strewn violently around the space. It was the murals, though, that drew her gaze. The freed slaves had remained untouched, but the depiction of Solas was almost completely gone. His face was charred and the stonework shattered away. Cracks splintered out from where his body had been and created large fissures in the wall. It had clearly been an attack of powerful magic. 

“How long were you listening?” Tamael asked as he turned to face her. 

“Long enough.” She looked warily at the Fen’Harel painting once more. “It doesn't matter.”

Tamael narrowed his eyes. “Doesn't it?”

Her teeth clamped together and her mouth set into a hard line. She looked down and smoothed the map between her palms. “I have other things I need to worry about first.”

“The problems are inextricably tied,” he replied, stepping forward and glancing down at the map. “I thought you were smart enough to realize that.”

“And I thought you said you were indifferent to the gods,” Ellya snapped, jutting her chin when Tamael met her gaze. 

His eye twitched as he looked her over. “I'm not the only one to use indifference as a mask. We both hide what we must.” 

Their eyes met briefly, and Ellya felt a sad sort of smile tug on her lips. 

“Now,” Tamael said and held up a hand, his scowl once more firmly in place. “I believe you’ve brought me a map.”

* * *

Ellya had never imagined she would find herself in The Deep Roads, and she hoped she never would again. For two days, they had followed the Qunari trail into the bowels of the earth, and Ellya was beginning to feel the strain of the solid rock above her head. It felt like slow suffocation. Each turn in the path lead to more carved pathways and sloping halls—more black rock and water dripping over stone. She longed for the sunlight, but as each hour passed, the chill began to seep, sinking beneath her armor and causing the hairs along her skin to rise.

The only thing Ellya could take comfort in was the fact that they were on the right path. She had been uncertain when they stepped through the eluvian and into the darkness of the earth, but the long string of Qunari they had encountered had set her mind at ease. They had been sparse at first, but as she and her companions had followed the camps and cargo down the tunnels, the Qunari had begun to converge. 

Even now, she could hear them whispering constantly around corners. It was clear they were excavating something. The ground quaked with explosion after explosion, dusting her with grit and debris. It even sent the ever-present deepstalkers scurrying into their hidden tunnels.

Another explosion and the ground trembled. Ellya braced her legs and held out her hand. 

“What do you think they’re looking for?” Halani whispered at her back.

“Down here, I’d hate to ask.” Varric’s voice was strained and Ellya glanced at him over her shoulder, but he simply shrugged. 

Arlassan shook his head. “They should not disturb this ground.”

Cocking her head, Ellya frowned. “Why not?”

She watched as Abelas and Tamael looked around warily.

“The earth was not always so silent,” Arlassan continued and reached a hand toward the slick black surface of the nearest wall.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to start spouting stories about the Stone,” Varric mumbled.

Arlassan smiled faintly at him. “Would you like to hear them?” 

“I’d rather not.” Varric sat heavily on an abandoned crate and settled his pack on his lap. “I’ve heard enough of the Stone to last a lifetime.”

Wiping her brow, Ellya leaned against her staff. A slow buzzing began at the base of her neck, curling around her temples and pouring itself into her eyes. The Well was whispering to her, answering the question she had only begun to ask. “The Titans?” she murmured, her voice barely audible to her own ears.

Abelas and Tamael turned to look at her, but it was Arlassan that stepped forward. “Yes,” he said solemnly. “Even in our time, they had been gone for many centuries. A decimated race that fell to the Gods.” His gaze traveled past her face and toward the jagged walls. “But it’s still unwise to disturb a graveyard.”

The slight chill that had so thoroughly permeated Ellya’s bones suddenly turned ice cold. She swallowed and glanced around. “Then let’s figure out what the Qunari are up to and be on our way.”

The others seemed to be of the same mind. As soon as she turned, they followed and a thoughtful silence settled over them.

Ellya kept her ears upright and strained to listen for more Qunari. She couldn’t see them, but she could hear them in the distance, somewhere across the winding tunnels and open trenches in the earth.

A light flickered and Ellya held up her hand. “Wait,” she whispered, and felt Abelas and Iron Bull inch near. “I think I see someone moving up ahead.”

She took two slow deliberate steps forward, balancing as lightly as she could upon the balls of her feet to dampen any noise. Her eyes widened as she got close. It was a single human man. He sat huddled next to a small fire under a makeshift scaffold.

Straightening and hurriedly looking around, Ellya strode forward, Iron Bull and Abelas close at her back.

As soon as he caught sight of her, the man leapt to his feet and held up a simple longsword. His hands shook as he crouched and looked between her and her companions, but his mouth fell open when his eyes landed upon the anchor.

“Oh!” He stood up straighter and let his sword sag. “You’re the Inquisitor.”

Frowning, Ellya looked the man up and down. “Who are you?” 

“My name’s Jerran. Please.” The man dropped his sword and hurried toward her. 

Ellya brought the point of her staff to his chest, even as she saw the others stiffen out of the corner of her eye.

“We don’t have much time,” he said and raised his hands. “You have to stop the Viddasala.”

“The Viddasala?” The shock in Iron Bull’s voice was thick. 

Ellya jerked her head toward Bull, but kept her eyes forward and her staff raised. “You’ve heard of them?” 

“Yeah,” Bull said and stepped to her side, “that’s a high-ranking Ben-Hassrath. Specializes in magic. Finding. Studying. Stopping.”

Pursing her lips, Ellya couldn’t help but glance down at her left hand. 

“Look,” Jerran said, “I don’t care if you serve Fen’Harel or not. Someone has to stop her.”

At that, Ellya lowered her staff. The shock of his words made her arms feel numb. “Me?” she whispered, staring at Jarren. “Serve Fen’Harel?”

Jarren shrugged and shook his head. “That’s what the Viddasala said. So, the Qunari here believe her.”

Ellya let out a frustrated huff and clenched her left fist. The green light of the anchor flickered and swept along the cracks between her fingers.

“Besides,” Jarren continued, “we’ve had agents of Fen’Harel causing all sorts of trouble for us. Sabotage. Making spirits attack us. I assumed the Inquisition was their army. That you came here because Fen’Harel told you to.”

“I do not work for Fen’Harel,” Ellya grit out between her teeth. Her eyes darted to Abelas. 

“If you serve this Viddasala, then why are you warning us?” Tamael said and stepped close to Ellya’s right. He glanced at her briefly, his gaze flicking to her mark before he crossed his arms and stared down at Jarren.

Rubbing his hands together, Jarren turned away. “I was a Templar once, in Kirkwall, until I joined the Qun. Kirkwall and the Templar leadership were chaos, but the Qunari there were like the eye of a storm.” He stuttered and sucked in a deep breath. “I believe in order and discipline, and protecting innocents from magic. But this plan… this plan is as mad as Knight Commander Meredith ever was.”

“What exactly is this plan?” Ellya asked, trying to smooth away the anger in her heart by concentrating on the immediate task at hand.

Jarren wet his lip and leaned closed. “This place is a lyrium mining and processing center.”

“That’s not possible,” Varric said. 

“It is,” Jarren quickly replied. “Somehow, they’ve found a way to mine it without killing themselves, and now Viddasala is giving it, a lot of it, to the saarebas, for something she calls ‘Dragon’s Breath’.”

“Dragon’s Breath,” Ellya murmured. Her mind felt like it was being pulled in a thousand directions at once. “Bull, what could saarebas do with that much lyrium?”

Iron Bull shifted uncertainly. “They’re not like human and elf mages, Boss. More raw. More powerful. That’s why they leash them.”

Suppressing a shudder at the mental image of chains and sewn lips, Ellya turned her eyes back to Jarren. “Can you tell us anything else?”

“No,” he said quickly, “the Qunari don’t like it when you ask too many questions. But…” He paused and looked at her, his face hard. “She did say it would ‘save the South’, and that can only mean one thing.”

“Invasion,” Bull finished quietly.

Ellya’s hand went to her mouth, her eyes darting wildly around the room as she tried to think, to plan. Corypheus. The Exalted Council. The Qunari. Solas. It never stopped. She turned as a selfish surge of anger clawed at her thoughts and an empty pit gnawed at her gut. Whether she wanted it to be or not, her duty would never be over. Her feet felt unsteady as she realized it. There would always be another threat and another people to save—a crushing yoke disguised with praise. Her life would never again be hers. 

Turning back to her companions, she pushed her desolation away. Her own anger was insignificant to the lives she needed to save, and the burden was one she knew she needed to bear. She couldn't abandon the South to the Qunari.

“We have no choice now. We have to go back,” she breathed and then swallowed the last of her unsettled thoughts. “We have to warn Leliana and Briala. They need to—we need to—assemble forces.”

Bull nodded. “Agreed.”

“Is there a way to disrupt the mine?” Abelas asked and took a step toward Jarren. “Are there others?”

“This is the only one they have.” His eyes got bright and a smile crept across his face as he nodded. “They’re using gaatlok to blast the lyrium so they don’t have to touch it. If you can get some primers from the central supply, you could prime the gaatlok and detonate it. The whole place would go up in flames.”

“Good,” Ellya said and turned toward her companions. “We need to hurry and see if we can cut them off here. Then back to Halamshiral.”

Jarren bowed and stepped back toward his campfire. “Maker watch over you, Inquisitor.”

Nodding, Ellya gripped her staff and lead the others out of the small den. She didn’t care who watched over her at that moment, either her silent Creators or the shemlens’ silent Maker, she just hoped she could stop the Qunari in time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abelas must cope with painful memories and the anger of grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you, as always, to my betas sirenfromspace and saarebitch for helping me with this chapter and for cheering me on to keep writing. I couldn't do it without you two. And to everyone who has commented, kudo'ed, or left me encouragement. Thank you so much. <3

Abelas kicked at the dirt and paced before the eluvian. Ellya and Varric had left hours ago to report their findings, to relay what they had done and learned in the Deep Roads, and he and the others had been left with nothing to do but wait. Tamael, Arlassan, and Halani had slipped away not long ago to stand guard over the floating bridges, one in each direction, and silently watch for any sign of the Qunari threat. 

“So, Abelas.” Iron Bull leaned against a large rock and balanced his sword over his thighs. “That twirling thing you do when you lunge toward an attacker. Is that something they taught you at that temple of yours?”

Abelas stopped his pacing and considered Iron Bull with a long look. “Yes,” he said simply before turning away.

When he offered no more explanation, Iron Bull sighed and shifted his stance. “It’s impressive,” he continued. “Don't think I've ever seen the technique before.” 

“You wouldn't.” Abelas flicked his wrist dismissively as his steps landed harder in the ashen soil. “It was a tenant of the _Dirth’ena enasalin_. To my knowledge, that path has been lost to time.”

Iron Bull nodded and frowned. “That's a shame.”

“It is.” Abelas took long strides past the eluvian and back again. 

“Why don’t Tamael and Arlassan practice...what did you call it? Dirth in salan?” 

Iron Bull was attempting to be friendly, Abelas realized, a way to pass the time, but he was in no mood to hear it. It had been days since they had stepped through that eluvian—days of sweeping in and out of the Twining Paths, following the Qunari invaders as they rummaged through places that should have been left untouched, and he was no closer to answers. Abelas’ nerves were at a breaking point. He felt more than restless, more than unsettled. His very skin felt as if it would leap away from his form if only to propel itself into action. They had destroyed the attackers from the temple. They had destroyed the invaders at the valley. They had destroyed the Qunari mine, but they had still not seen so much as a glimpse of Fen’Harel.

“It is not your concern,” he answered sharply, not bothering to look at Iron Bull. 

“Right,” Iron Bull said, “the horns make me one of the bad guys.”

Abelas spun around, his eyes narrowed.

Iron Bull snorted. “Don't act all offended.” He raised an arm and pointed a giant finger at Abelas’ face. “It’s easy enough to see what you’re thinking.”

Abelas shifted his weight onto one leg and rubbed a hand across his chin. “It is not meant as a personal affront. However, I can admit my curiosity toward your presence here,” he said slowly. “That you would fight and kill your own people.”

Iron Bull looked at him from the down the crooked expanse of his nose. “So you’ve never killed an elf?”

Shifting, Abelas furrowed his brow. “No, I have killed many. Both in civil war and out of a need for survival.” His eyes roved over Iron Bull. “Is this similar?”

Iron Bull’s face scrunched. “Yes.” But he shook his head. “And no. I’m here, because this is where I want to be.”

Stepping closer, Abelas crossed his arms and listened, silently waiting and asking him to continue. 

“Let’s just say I was in a bad situation and was given a choice: let my family die and stay with the Qun, or let my family live and become Tal-Vashoth, a defector.” Iron Bull shrugged. “It wasn’t really a choice in the end.”

Abelas frowned, an embarrassed warmth creeping across his cheeks at his own presumptuousness. “I am sorry.”

“Me too,” Iron Bull admitted, too casually, “but I wouldn't take it back. I wouldn't make that sacrifice just to be called Qunari again. It’s shitty, but I look at my Chargers, at their faces, and it’s not so bad.”

Taking another step closer, his curiosity driving him forward, Abelas leaned his hip against a nearby rock. “And so now you follow Ellya?” He knew he had no right to ask after their relationship, and Iron Bull had no reason to answer, but he voiced the question all the same.

“Yeah, well, she was there.” Bull’s fingers tapped along his blade. “It was her alliance we were trying to secure, between the Inquisition and Par Vollen. Finish the mission and we’d have a powerful tool against Corypheus. But she wouldn’t sacrifice my men. She just looked at my face when the decision had to be made and had me call them back. Barely gave me a second to weigh the options. I’d say that earns her some loyalty.” He sighed and let his sword swing down until the tip rested against the dirt. “Probably led to this whole mess.” He smirked and let out a tight bark of laughter. “Or maybe not, if the Viddasala is here. Point is, she didn’t hesitate to save my troops, even at a big cost to herself.”

Abelas stared at The Iron Bull, an understanding smile tugging at his lips. “Her experience with her own clan,” he murmured, eying Iron Bull cautiously and not wishing to overstep any bounds. “Perhaps she did not wish a similar fate for you.”

His head tilting, Iron Bull considered him. “Yeah, that's what I thought too,” he answered, his one eye unblinking as he looked Abelas up and down. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about her. She tell you about Lavellan at that temple up north?”

Clearing his throat, Abelas looked away. “We spoke of many things,” he muttered, an uncomfortable irritation engulfing his words as he looked out toward the sunless bright sky. “However, you are not mistaken. She and I are little more than strangers.” He chafed against the half-lie. They were strangers in most ways, and yet were close beyond measure in others. 

“Sure,” Iron Bull said, his features indifferent even if his tone spoke of amusement. “Anyway, now you know.”

Abelas glanced back at him and dipped his chin. “I apologize for my harshness. It was misplaced. I realize you have little cause to trust me, or my presence here, despite what Ellya may have told you about her time with my people. You need not have told me your story, but you have my gratitude for it,” he said sincerely. Straightening, he pursed his lips and thought back to the start of their conversation and the _Dirth’ena enasalin_. “The move is a _na’halim_ , a pull on the lands Beyond to enhance the reflexes. If you had the aptitude for magic, I would offer to teach you.” 

His brow raising nearly to the broad horns at the top of his head, Iron Bull let out a loud laugh. “No thanks,” he said and slapped his leg. “Sword and muscle is what I'll trust. Not some demon-slinging crap from the Fade.” He grinned. “Pretty as it looks.”

He should have been offended, should have scowled at the irreverent words, but instead Abelas felt a real smile spread across his lips and the tension that had coiled around his shoulders loosen a fraction. He was about to offer a retort when the sleeping eluvian to their left began to glow and buzz. Within the next moment, Ellya’s small form stepped through, followed closely by Varric. The smile on his lips instantly melted away when he saw the worry and anger painted clearly across her face.

“What happened?” Iron Bull asked before Abelas could voice a word.

Wiping a hand across her brow, Ellya frowned. “It’s already worse than we thought.” She glanced at Abelas before turning to Iron Bull. “In addition to numerous spies, Briala and the others found gaatlok hidden all around Halamshiral. Barrels and barrels of it.”

“Shit,” Iron Bull breathed and stood. 

Ellya leaned against her staff. “They wouldn't even order an evacuation.” Her lips twisted into bitterness. “Not until we learn more and track down this Viddasala. They feared it would set off a panic.”

Abelas frowned at the callousness. 

“Then they are fools,” Tamael said from the edge of the rock cliffs. He strode toward them, bow strung and nocked in his hand. Arlassan and Halani were close behind, their weapons also drawn. “The Qunari are moving.”

Iron Bull and Ellya hurried to meet him. “Where?” Ellya asked quickly. 

“Three bridges down from here.”

Ellya nodded and peered past Tamael’s shoulder. “Do you know where they're heading?”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t see the eluvian clearly enough.”

Glancing at Iron Bull and Abelas, Ellya gestured forward with her staff. “Then let's be careful.”

Abelas strode to Tamael’s side and nodded for him to lead the way. 

It wasn't long before the Qunari came into sight, patrolling casually around a slowly pulsing eluvian. There weren't many of them, only ten, but Abelas felt a sort of relief at the chance for a fight, an outlet for the stress that had been building in his mind. 

With a sweeping gesture of his fingers, Iron Bull crept down the pathway, and Abelas followed closely at his side. He could feel his magic hum to the point of pain, his spectral blade held tightly within his mental grasp as they made their way closer. When only the long expanse of the rock bridge remained, Iron Bull met his eye and nodded before lunging into a run. A great war cry sounded across the endless depths of the Twining Paths, and Abelas watched as the Qunari scrambled to attention. 

Without a second thought, Abelas sprinted after Iron Bull. He could feel Tamael and Halani at his back, their bows loosing in perfect rhythm with their steps, and watched with satisfaction as two arrows connected with the vulnerable flesh of one Qunari’s neck. One sprinted step and then two—the platform grew closer with each stride, and Abelas filled his lungs with the air of battle, ready to strike. 

When Iron Bull reached their targets and the clash of metal rang through Abelas’ ears, he grit his teeth and exhaled, twisting his magic around his body as he leapt through the air. In an instant, the world rushed and blurred and his breath slowed. The fabric of space parted and he landed on the opposite end of the platform, startling the two Qunari at his sides. Before they could react, he struck out with his blade, running one through the middle and swinging to catch the other across the throat.

“Saarebas!” Iron Bull shouted as he pushed against the two Qunari fighters at the bridge’s end.

Abelas didn’t have time to fully process his words before a bolt of lightning flew past his head, narrowly missing his left ear. With a grunt, he slid behind the eluvian and glanced around the edge. Ellya and the others were flanking the majority of the Qunari while Iron Bull and Halani held them in place, but two Qunari had followed him to the other side. 

Abelas’ eyes went wide as he finally glimpsed the mage. His face was masked and devoid of expression, and his lips were sewn completely shut. Behind him, the other Qunari bellowed and jerked on the chain that pulled the collar around the mage’s neck.

As the mage lumbered forward in docile obedience, Abelas felt his stomach twist with a snarling sort of rage. The mage, perhaps once as thinking and feeling as himself, was nothing more than a husk, a husk collared and chained to the second Qunari and used like a beast of war. Abelas’ thoughts went blank, and he could see nothing but red and haze. He felt transported. No longer was it a Qunari in front of him, but an elven master using the magic and blood of his slaves for power. No longer was it a hulking mass jerking a chain, but a Priest of Anaris, someone who tortured his fellows for the sheer joy of destruction. 

Without thought, Abelas thumbed the blade strapped to his hip and lunged. The dagger found its mark, hitting the second Qunari’s hand and causing him to drop the chain, but the mage lumbered on. Erecting a strong barrier, Abelas twirled forward, dodging a flash of blue flame before lashing out with his spirit blade toward the mage’s exposed abdomen. The cloth and flesh parted easily beneath his assault, and Abelas felt his lip curl as the mage slumped to the earth with little more than a soft exhale of breath, as devoid in death as he was in life.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled his blade from the mage’s body and focused on the Qunari handler. Abelas’ eyes narrowed as he leapt, a strangled cry of rage leaving his lips. He didn’t call his magic or reach for a weapon. His anger felt too raw and his mind too consumed. He simply hurtled his body forward.

His arms hit metal, and he grunted and coughed as he and the Qunari grappled to the dirt.  
Legs wrapped around his hips and twisted him sideways, throwing him toward the base of the eluvian. Abelas barely had time to stand before the Qunari slammed into his stomach and they both went toppling back. He heard a shout, but a flash of blue cut off the sound, and they fell completely through the mirror. 

Abelas didn’t spare a moment to look around. The Qunari snarled a foreign word from above and reared back to strike him with a fist. Craning his head to the left, Abelas bucked and threw him off balance. Grabbing a fistful of his attacker’s hair and jutting the heel of his palm into the Qunari’s neck, he called on all the magic he could muster in the midst of his rage. The smell of ozone and seared flesh instantly filled his nose, as the Qunari screeched and jerked. Electricity coursed through him, from his fingertips and into the Qunari’s body—over and over. Abelas pushed to his knees as the Qunari went slack and slammed him into the dirt. His teeth ground together at the force of his magic, but he pushed harder, shoving his fingers further into the Qunari’s neck and watched him convulse beneath his power.

“Abelas!” 

He ignored the call of his name. All he could see were chains and sewn lips, and the shell of the being that had suffered under the Qunari’s hands.

“Abelas, he’s dead.” 

A large hand on his cloak tugged him away from the Qunari and pulled him upright. Abelas jerked his attention to Tamael, ready to lash out with the anger he hadn’t yet spent. 

Tamael’s eyes went sharp and narrowed, and he tugged once more on Abelas’ cloak with a jut of his chin over his shoulder.

Turning, Abelas felt all anger and words escape him entirely. His eyes widened and his stomach dropped. All magic fled and his body went numb. He hadn’t known where he’d fallen, as tangled with the Qunari as he’d been, but now he could see. And now he wished he hadn’t.

“ _Vir Dirthara_ ,” he whispered, the name leaving his lips in a strangled croak. 

With a swallow, he cast his eyes around, unbelieving as he took in the destruction—jagged rocks and broken shelves, torn pages and cracked pavers, bridges that led to nowhere, the large raven statues made of gold sitting askew and crumbled by time and cataclysm. Abelas’ knees suddenly felt weak and only Tamael’s grip still within the folds of his cloak kept him from falling.

“What is this place?” Ellya’s low voice curled past the haze in his head, but Abelas could not speak an answer. He simply turned, his eyes searching for something to ground him against the pain.

“It was the place of knowledge,” Arlassan spoke quietly, his voice thick. They had all stepped through the eluvian and stood staring with wide-eyes around the space. Abelas met his gaze and could not shake the feeling of helplessness at seeing the tears drop down Arlassan’s cheeks. Out of all of them, it would have been Arlassan who had friends here, perhaps even family. He opened his mouth to continue, but with a hitch of his chest, he closed it again.

“What happened here?” Ellya asked, her tone cautious as she picked up a torn binding. “The Qunari?”

“No,” Abelas breathed, finally finding his voice. “No, the Qunari could not have caused this.”

Tamael’s fingers slid from Abelas’ cloak and he turned to see a red amorphous shape gliding their way.

“ _Andaran atish’an, mirthadra Elvhen_ ,” the spirit spoke in its lulling voice as it approached. “If you wish, honored Elvhen, I will speak so your guests understand.”

Arlassan took a staggered step forward. “Study,” he murmured, his hand raising slightly before bringing it back to his side.

“Honored Elvhen, you have not forgotten,” Study spoke, their tone melodious in spite of the destruction all around. “I have preserved them, and obtained new words. New knowledge. They are waiting below, if you wish to learn.”

Abelas felt his heart stutter and constrict. He wet his lips and stepped closer to the Spirit of Study. “Archivist, please, tell us what happened here.” He cast his eyes briefly toward the floating rocks. He had an idea, a suspicion, but he needed the thought confirmed. “The pathways...they are destroyed. How did they fall?”

Study considered him a moment. “You have been here before. Came with your teachers to partake in the wisdom of every city. You know the _Vir Dirthara_ was a connecting place made of world and Fade. When they were sundered, so were we.”

Abelas took a step back, his eyes closing tight against the confirmation. He should have considered it, should have known that none of the places between could have remained standing when the Veil came down.

“Many were trapped,” Study continued, and Abelas opened his eyes. “I have preserved their last words.”

“Their last words…” Abelas breathed, horror sinking into his gut.

Study’s voice rang out in clarity. “ _‘What happened? Where are the paths? Where are the paths?’_ ”

Abelas’ mouth went dry, and his breathing stopped.

“ _‘Gods save me,’_ ” Study continued, their voice like a tangible memory ripping through his thoughts. “ _‘The floor is gone. Do not let me fall. Do not let me—’_ ”

“Stop,” Tamael cut out in a hoarse whisper. 

Silence bled across the space and Abelas felt his stomach curl in nausea. It was as if he were there again, back at the exact moment when the Veil fell. He could hear the screams and anguish, could feel the burning that tore across his body and left his limbs silent and gasping for the magic that would never return. Everywhere he looked, he saw the deaths of those who were not saved.

“In this spot, that is all,” Study said evenly, as if their words had little effect if them. “Others have more, if you wish to hear.”

Wiping a hand across his mouth, Abelas turned away from the spirit and began to walk. He needed to breathe, to get away. He didn’t care where his feet led him.

“Abelas.”

He heard Ellya calling his name softly, but didn’t stop his pace. He strode past Tamael and Iron Bull, and turned around one column and then the next until they were gone, his eyes filling with ruin and his ears with the terrified last words of those who fell. 

“Abelas, wait.” 

Ellya’s hand landed on his arm, and Abelas went rigid. The green flecks of power swirled against the sheen of his vambrace, as if its terrible beauty meant to mock his pain. Abelas jerked away with disgust, wanting nothing more than to strike out at the Dread Wolf. It was his fault. He had done this to this place of wisdom, to this place of knowledge, to this place of peace.

“Do not touch me with that,” he said in a whisper strained by sorrow and rage.

Her brow furrowing, Ellya drew her arm back and looked down at the pulsing mark in her palm. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. 

He swallowed and clenched his jaw as she peered into his eyes. Her face was so open and concerned, her lips downturned and her brow pinched. She reached out with her other hand and gently touched his fingers.

“I’ll go if you wish,” she said quietly and stroked the back of his hand.

Abelas breathed heavily through his nose to calm himself and shook his head. “No. If you search the Vir’Abelasan, you will see and understand,” he said, his voice hushed. “The pain I feel and why I feel it cannot be recounted by words.”

He watched as Ellya nodded, her eyes blinking slowly as if she were listening to the voices within. He clasped her fingers suddenly and tightly. “Do not delve too deep,” he cautioned, “it can consume. Their—our—anguish as what we once were was stripped and destroyed. All of it in a single moment of terror.” He let go of her fingers and glanced back around, the heavy sadness filling his chest more and more, every intake of air feeling like he was drowning. “It is a moment that we can never forget, and the echoes of which we are forever reminded.”

With a sigh, Abelas sank to his knees, his armor clanking against the rough stone of the floor. Ellya frowned and settled next to him.

“I had not expected to be so stuck,” he admitted softly. “Not after visiting _Revas’an_ and journeying through the Twining Paths. The evidence of the Veil’s destruction has been a constant in my long years, down to the very essence of my body.” He grimaced as he felt his lips begin to quake. “But this place. These spirits. My memories here are plenty. To see it thus…” He trailed off and curled his hands into fists. “It is like walking across the threshold of home and finding only a graveyard inside. A graveyard that whispers its horrors in perfect clarity between my ears.” Abelas looked at Ellya, feeling his face heat with shame and anger as his eyes welled with tears.

Ellya straightened and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. “It's okay,” she murmured and stroked her fingers through the matted strands of his hair. She settled closer, until there was no space between their legs as she knelt by his side, and pressed her forehead to his own. “You put me through that cleansing ritual, remember? And held me afterward as I wailed. It's okay.”

Abelas squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the tears fall past his lashes and land on his cheeks. He didn't want to let go. He wanted to hold onto his anger instead of feel the pain, but he couldn't help the small sob that escaped his lips. Drawing in a ragged breath, he leaned into her touch. 

Ellya wiped her thumb across his jaw and stroked his neck once more. She didn’t say anything, just held herself near as he cried, and he drank up her presence greedily as if it were a tonic to ease his grief.

“I will be fine,” he muttered after a moment, trying to compose himself and steady his breath, but he didn’t move away. His eyes eventually dried, but his heart still felt sore. “I will endure, and then I will sleep.” The words left his lips as a mantra, more for himself than for her.

Ellya’s fingers stilled. “Abelas…”

He shook his head slightly. He didn’t want to hear her protestations, not now.

“And Solas?” Her tone was quiet, but held a sharp edge that he couldn’t mistake for anything but anger.

Abelas leaned back and frowned, the grief slipping away to confusion, but Ellya inched closer. 

“I heard your argument with Tamael,” she said softly. “Why you want to go to Solas.”

At her admittance, Abelas’ lips parted. He didn't know what he wanted to say, other than he felt an immediate sense of guilt and urge to explain. 

Ellya shook her head with a sad smile. “No,” she whispered, “it's all right.” She pursed her lips and drew in a deep breath as her gaze scanned the ruins around them. “You want to try everything to get back what you’ve lost. I understand that.” Her eyes flicked to his briefly before she looked away with a sigh. “If it's what you still want after this, I'll help you,” she said and moved her hand from his neck to rest it on his upper arm, tucked just below the pauldron of his cloak. 

“You would help me?” he asked, almost disbelieving, and eyed the mark on hand. “Even after all he has done to you? Even knowing the risks?”

Ellya’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded. “I need to see to the Qunari, and I have questions he needs to answer, but this?” She raised her arms and gestured to the Vir Dirthara. “If Solas is trying to make this right, then it doesn't matter how I feel. I will gladly try to help you regain your home. I know I would give anything to regain mine.”

Selfless—the word struck across his thoughts and welled something strange within his chest. Without thinking, Abelas reached forward and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight to his body and closing his eyes against the warmth of her touch.

“ _Ne halani ma glandival_ ,” he murmured and pressed his cheek against the softness of her hair. She couldn’t know what her words meant to him. Pulling back, he cupped her face within his hands. “ _Ma serannas, lethallan_. We will make our worlds right. Together.”

Ellya smiled and covered his hand against her cheek. “Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ne halani ma glandival" = (lit.) You help me believe. (more poetically, Abelas is saying Ellya inspires him to have faith and hope when he's feeling lost).


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellya finally faces the Viddasala.

Another dead end.

Ellya pushed her hair out of her face and wiped a hand across the slickness of her brow, as she frowned at the sheer edge at her feet. The  _ Vir Dirthara _ seemed endless, and they were running out of time.

Slamming the bottom of her staff into the ground, she worried her bottom lip between her teeth and glanced impatiently around. Each pathway was fragmented and confused, no up or down, top or bottom, just a continuous and treacherous maze. It led them around in circles as they passed through one eluvian after the next to scramble after the Qunari. She knew they just needed to push on, to follow the trail and face the dangers each new path presented, but she was growing frustrated, and the Sentinels and her companions had grown silent.

She glanced over her shoulder and let her eyes linger on Abelas’ stony face as he and the others looked around for clues. His expression had only grown darker as the hours went on, tears and sorrow replaced by cold calculation and hidden rage. Each time they encountered a new room or fought another slew of Qunari, his movements became sharper, more rigid and precise, as if he were honing his grief into a weapon. She couldn’t blame him or the others for their mood. Even Halani and Varric had sobered under the weight of destruction and surrounding permeance of death. The scattered books and crumbling artwork lay testament to what had been lost, and the wandering spirits with their tragic words only served to deepen the wounds. 

With a reluctant swallow, she turned away and carefully picked a path up a slim staircase. As she reached the top, her left arm twinged, the sudden pain pulling her thoughts into focus. Her palm crackled, and she grit her teeth against the sharp tearing she felt across her skin. There, across a narrow bridge, was another glowing eluvian. She scrambled back down a few stairs to lean toward the room below.

“Up here,” she called to her companions.

Tamael was the first to reach her. He strode quickly across the small bridge and let his hands hover across the inscribed gold along the eluvian’s frame. 

Ellya gripped her staff in both hands and glanced around as the others gathered at the stairs. 

Iron Bull nudged her. “Boss.” His whisper was hurried and harsh, the same tone he used warn of danger.

Ellya went tense.

Iron Bull pressed his fingers to his lips and raised his sword with his other hand. Without a word he pointed up.

Ellya had to stifle a gasp as she raised her head. Not thirty feet above their heads were the Qunari—dozens of them. They were not on a cliff or outcropping, but on their own flat platform, standing upside down as if suspended from a ceiling far above. 

“As if this place didn't give me the creeps before,” Varric grumbled, but Ellya could hear the faint tremor in his voice. 

“This path might take us there, but it’s hard to tell. It at least won’t take us out of the  _ Vir Dirthara _ .” Tamael backed away from the eluvian and glanced upward before carefully pulling his bow into his hands and drawing an arrow.

Halani shook her head. “There's too many of them, and it looks like they’re looking right at us.”

“I’d say the Viddasala is up there,” Bull said with a nod toward a high balcony. “They’re waiting for us to come through.” 

Pursing her lips, Ellya eyed each Qunari. “Do you think they’d be willing to talk?”

“Talk?” Halani sputtered and raised a brow. “Ellya, you can't be serious.”

Ellya tore her eyes downward and frowned at Halani. “Of course I am.”

“The Viddasala’s not exactly known for changing her mind.” Bull stepped closer. “More likely she wants to spit some doctrine at you. You know, insult your magic. Call you a demon-infested heathen.” He shrugged. “And then try to kill you.”

Ellya curled her fingers tighter around her staff. “I have to try. Cullen and Briala dispatched troops to find the source of the gaatlok, but I don’t know if they’ll have enough time before this Dragon’s Breath.” She sighed and glanced at Abelas before returning her gaze to her hands. “The Viddasala is working under a misconception about my relationship with Solas. Perhaps I can make her see reason.” 

“And if not?” Tamael asked, his voice level and calm as he fingered the fletching of his arrow.

Ellya set her jaw and narrowed her eyes toward the Qunari above. “I wouldn’t let the South fall to Corypheus and the Breach. I’m not about to let it fall to her.”

Bull heaved in a great sigh and then moved closer. “All right, they’re gonna try to ram us with melee fighters up front. Two-handed axes and swords. Probably more reavers to try and distract us and cut us down while the saarebas stay back and pick us off.” 

Ellya nodded and tried to count the fighters above. 

“Abelas and I can make a shield wall of sorts to block as many as we can, while the rest of you concentrate on the saarebas.” Bull looked up and silently eyed the platform. “I count three. You have to take them down first.”

Nodding, Ellya turned toward the small bridge. “I’ll go through first. If they are waiting for us, hopefully they won’t attack on sight.” She paused and bit her lip before turning back to face Bull and Abelas. “But stay close.”

Wordlessly, Bull nodded, and Abelas stepped into the small space at her back. Within two steps she was at the eluvian, and in another she took a deep breath and walked through.

A bright flash of blue and then her senses sharpened. Every inch of her skin felt alighted by magic and alert, waiting for the attack to come. But as her eyes cleared and the platform of Qunari came into view, none of them moved. Abelas and Iron Bull were at her side in an instant, followed closely by the others, forming a protective circle at her back. 

“Survivor of the Breach. Herald of Change,” a low, feminine voice intoned across the space, and a slow movement to Ellya’s left caught her eye. 

A tall Qunari woman approached the edge of a balcony. “Hero of the South.”

Ellya straightened her shoulders and looked the Qunari up and down. She was dressed in black armor interwoven with red ropes, and a silver headdress circled her horns and forehead. The piercing gaze of her eyes and the slight downturn of her scarred and thin mouth left little doubt as to her identity. 

Ellya gently let the tip of her staff settle to the ground. “You must be the Viddasala.”

The Viddasala looked at her coolly for a moment, her eyes never blinking as she took in Ellya and her friends. “It is astonishing that you still walk freely among your people, Inquisitor, now that you have fulfilled your purpose at the Breach.” She crossed her arms and her brow rose a fraction. “Your duty is done,” she said bluntly, her voice a clear command. “It is time to end your magic.”

Pursing her lips, Ellya forced herself to stare at the Viddasala, even as she saw the other Qunari shift out of the corner of her eye and felt Abelas and Iron Bull press closer to her side. 

“My magic is no threat,” Ellya began slowly. “The leaders of the South and I want nothing more than peace now that the Breach has been resolved.”

The Viddasala smirked, as if she were looking at an amusing  _ da’len _ . “There’s no need to pretend. You’re not blind to what you’ve begun.” Her features hardened and she sneered. “I am no stranger to catastrophe, but this chaos in the South defies comprehension. The Qun left your people to curb your magic. You’ve amply proven we should have stepped in long ago.”

Ellya gaped. “Stepped in? The Breach is closed. Corypheus is gone. The Council is convening as we speak to dismantle the Inquisition and transition the powers that are no longer needed. There is no chaos.” She clamped her lips closed and drew in a quick breath through her nose. She needed to steady herself. “It’s not too late to talk,” she continued, hoping her voice sounded reasonable. “To end this peacefully.”

Narrowing her eyes, the Viddasala shook her head. “Do you believe closing the Breach solved everything? That its consequences stopped there? No, the Qun has already decided its action. We will remove your leaders and spare those who toil. Fen’Harel and his agents have only bought you moments. Your magic ends here.” She jerked her head to the right. “Kill the Inquisitor.”

“Wait!” Ellya lifted her foot to step forward, shocked that the Viddasala would dismiss her so abruptly. 

An arrow whizzed past Ellya’s face and a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back just in time. Abelas pushed her behind his back, and a barrier rose. War cries shouted across the room. Arrows began to fly. Iron Bull and Halani instantly stepped to her other side and chaos erupted.

Ellya pressed her back against Varric’s and shuffled toward the eluvian, her eyes darting around the space. Qunari after Qunari rushed at their small circle. 

“Brace!” Arlassan shouted as the first few were within steps of Iron Bull and Abelas. He crouched and slammed his palm into the cracked stones at their feet. Ellya’s legs lurched and the ground swayed. A dull rumble built and then boomed in the air around, pressing outward from Arlassan’s palm as the ground buckled the Qunari to their knees.

Bull roared and swung at the prone attackers, while Abelas raised his arms and poured his magic into the softly pulsing barrier that was deflecting arrows and bolts from above.

“Saarebas!” the Viddasala yelled, her voice a crisp bark.

A bolt of lightning flared across Abelas’ barrier, filling the air with sparks.

“Varric, Tamael, on the left,” Ellya commanded, pointing tothe bound mage at the back of the room. “Arlassan, get the one on the right. I’ll slow down the warriors.”

Ellya pushed as close to Bull and Abelas as she could without impeding their movement. The first wave of reavers was down, but more were swarming across the bridge—a dozen at least, coming across the shallow water and over the guardrail, and even more sprinting down the stairs at the back.

Slamming her staff into the ground, Ellya tossed her arms wide. Her eyes and blood burned, and her skin flushed red. As the sweet taste of smoke wove across her tongue, her mouth instantly dried. Clenching her jaw, she pulled on her power, drawing it up up up from her depths until a thick wall of flames encircled the bridge. It wouldn’t last long, but it would hopefully slow the Qunari down long enough so that Bull and Abelas could fend them off.

A crack of thunder parted the barrier above her head. Ellya twisted to the side and threw her hand upward, throwing her own magic into Abelas’ to strengthen the shield.

“Tamael!” Abelas’ command rang out clearly as he kicked one attacker away and swung his sword to face another. Almost instantly, a red-fletched arrow sunk into his attacker’s neck.

“Saarebas are down,” Varric called at Ellya’s back as she ducked under the swing of a giant axe. She jabbed with her staff and curled her fingers into the Qunari’s exposed thigh, branding a searing mark upon his skin.

Her boots slipped in the blood at her feet, and she swallowed past the rank smell of burning flesh.

Her wall of flames fell and the Qunari surged. 

There were too many. Each move pushed her and her companions back. Bull and Abelas moved like lightning, hurling their bodies between her and the masses of foes. Varric scrambled higher, and Halani and Tamael had switched to their daggers, each attack a desperate attempt to stay alive.

Ellya cried out as an arrow grazed her arm, but the prickle of healing magic waved over her in a quick wave.

“Arlassan,” Ellya said quickly as she scanned the room. “Push them back one more time. Hard.” She clenched her left fist. “I’ll open a rift.”

“We’ll be too close,” Varric warned and fired a bolt over her head.

His brow dripping with sweat, Arlassan nodded. “I’ll push them far enough.” 

With a cry, he dropped to his knees and slammed both fists into the ground. A concussive wave hurtled from his hands and the stone cracked beneath the force. Ellya bent her legs and grabbed Halani to keep her near. She saw Tamael do the same with Abelas, as Bull and Varric hit the ground.

A strangled groan hit the air. The Qunari flew backward, struck by an invisible giant hand, and landed a half dozen feet away.

Ellya leapt forward, pushing past Abelas and sliding to her knees, as she opened her palm skyward and her body to Fen’Harel’s magic.

The pain was immediate. Her breath stole from her lungs and the sharp tearing of her palm rendered her mute. The rift sundered the room with a thunderous boom.

“Kill her!” The Viddasala’s cry barely resonated above the snapping energy of the rift.

The Qunari struggled to their feet.

Ellya pushed her palm forward, her head thrown back as she felt the blood run down her arm. The rift crackled bigger, lassoing two Qunari that tried to pry free and dragged them to its mouth. 

One reaver heaved his body toward her and raised his axe, but a bolt hit his shoulder and Bull stepped to her right and ran him through.

She glanced frantically around as she felt the anchor grow dull. Only four left, each straining their massive muscles to remain upright.

“Bull, Abelas, now,” she gasped between heavy sucks of air. With a snap, the rift collapsed and Ellya along with it.

She barely noticed when her companions ran forward. The skin on her arm was split and oozing, the white gleam of the bones in her wrist peeking beyond the red flesh. Trembling, she got to her knees and reached her right hand toward her left.

She knew all she needed was a moment. The anchor would fill the flesh and while the pain wouldn’t be gone, the wound would no longer be severe. She grimaced and clutched her arm to her chest, trying to breathe as the green light and magic swirled into the gaps.

“Ellya, the Viddasala!” Varric’s call pushed her to her feet and she forgot the ever-present pain in her arm.

A quick scan of the room showed the ground littered with bodies. Her companions were tired and bleeding, but Arlassan’s healing magic had staunched the worst wounds. Bull and Abelas rushed from the back of the room toward the stairway on the right, where the Viddasala and her few remaining troops were retreating. Ellya retrieved her staff and stumbled after them. 

Turning, Abelas came into stride at her side, slinging his arm around her back to help her along. “Are you all right?” heasked as he eyed her critically. She scoffed at the question, as his own face was streaked with blood and grime, and several cuts bled freely on his cheeks and forehead. 

“Weakened, but fine.” She swallowed and hastened her pace, feeling her body strengthen with each step. 

“You risk too much,” he muttered and erected a barrier over their heads as a few arrows flew down from the balcony above. She felt almost weightless as he pulled her closer to him and supported her with his body. “The power is overwhelming you.”

Shaking her head, Ellya hurled a fireball toward the stairs and scattered the Qunari. “The risks are necessary.”

Abelas frowned and his fingers grazed the swirling cracks on her left arm. Ellya clenched her teeth against the throbbing pain. “Permit me to help,” he implored softly. 

Ellya ignored his concern. “You already are.” Reaching into her belt, she retrieved a lyrium flask for herself and a health potion for Abelas. “Here, drink this and hurry. We can't let them get away.”

He stared at her a moment before jerking his head in a quick nod and downing the contents of the flask. 

Discarding the bottles, they raced to the stairs and climbed them two at a time. The others were quick on their heels, firing projectiles at the retreating Qunari as they went.

Ellya could just see the Viddasala as she crested the top of the stairs. 

“They’re going through an eluvian!” she called and raised her hand. A searing glyph burned through the air. The Viddasala shrieked as Ellya’s inferno spell landed squarely on her back.

Growling, the Viddasala turned and bared her teeth. “Slow them down.” She and the hulking mage at her side leapt through the eluvian, while the remaining three Qunari rushed back. 

Two of Tamael’s arrows flew to kill one as they raced to meet them in the middle of the long bridge. Varric and Halani shot the other, while Bull cut through the center one with one long sweep of his sword. 

Not breaking her stride, Ellya let go of Abelas and sprinted toward the eluvian. Bull leapt through first at her front and she could feel her friends close at her back. 

Taking a deep breath, she gathered her strength and jumped through the swirling blue. 

She blinked and the rocky terrain of the Crossroads appeared before her eyes. 

“This way!” Bull shouted and took off to the left. 

Ellya could just make out the Viddasala crossing a bridge in the distance, as she churned her legs and followed.

The moss was slick on her boots and her lungs felt on fire, but she kept her eyes on the Viddasala’s retreating form as she chased. Abelas and Tamael had caught up with Iron Bull, and they were gaining on her. 

A bolt of lightning flew from Abelas’ hand, barely missing the Viddasala’s thigh. She stumbled but quickly regained her footing and sprinted headlong up a rocky staircase. 

“Varric!” Ellya shouted over her shoulder. She heard the cranking of Bianca as he fired off a shot. The Viddasala grunted and staggered, the bolt embedding into her shoulder. Blood began to pour down her side.  

Ignoring the burn in her legs, Ellya pushed herself harder. They were almost there. 

“Saarath!” the Viddasala shrieked. The lumbering mage at her side roared. 

Ellya’s eyes widened as the mage stretched his arms upward and a violent thunderstorm gathered in the sky. 

Abelas and Bull skidded to a stop, almost tumbling as they raced to dodge the mage’s spell. 

“Get cover!” Bull’s warning came only seconds before a dozen bolts of lightning shot toward the rocky ground. 

Sliding against a wall, Ellya ducked and hastily produced a barrier over her nearby friends. She saw Abelas and Arlassan quickly do the same as boulders and dirt came crashing from above, and the platform cracked and swayed under the feet. 

As fast as it came, the lightning dissipated and Ellya lunged from the wall. The power had done its job and the Viddasala had regained her ground. She and the mage disappeared up the stairs. 

“Hurry,” Ellya called as she ran past Bull and launched herself up. She didn't hesitate as she reached a glowing mirror. She wrapped herself in a barrier and sprinted through. 

The other side was chaos. 

Fireballs and arrows instantly pounded against her magic and sent her staggering back against their force. Five Qunari blocked a grassy path—four warriors and a saarebas. Just beyond, Ellya could see the Viddasala and her companion sprint into tall elven ruins. 

Ellya grit her teeth and grunted, as another fireball hit her barrier. Her companions were at her side a moment later, Bull and Abelas rushing past to engage the Qunari while the others kept back to offer support from range. 

“No!” Ellya spit out, anger beginning to overwhelm her as she felt the Viddasala slipping away. Her stomach dropped and her feet drove her forward. Her left arm went hot. 

The five Qunari went down easy, but more were streaming out of the ruins. 

Bull and Abelas met the attackers head on. Fire flew from Ellya’s fingertips, every last ounce of her magic driving her to press forward. They cleared the grassy path and battled their way up the stairs. The Qunari fell, dropping in their wake either by flame or blade or bow. 

“There!” Tamael shouted as they rushed through the archway and into a stone courtyard. The Viddasala struggled up another dilapidated staircase at the far end, the mage still at her side. 

Ellya moved forward, ducking under a swinging Qunari’s sword, and her heart leapt. The Viddasala was close. They were gaining. They could make it.

Pain, searing and hot, stabbed into her gut. 

Ellya screamed. Her hand grasped her stomach, groping for a wound. Green light blinded her and she fell to her knees.

“Ellya!”

Her body thrashed backward, and her scream choked in her throat. Hot. On fire. In an instant, she was jerked upward and her feet left the ground. The surroundings spun. Shouts echoed in the air and a great roaring filled her ears. Her eyes went wide, but she couldn’t see. She felt like she was being cleaved in two.

Bones shattered and her flesh split. Her legs thrashed as she continued to spin. She couldn't breathe. The pain reached an unimaginable peak and her thoughts blanked. In one terrible lurch, her body stretched outward, and she felt her left hand explode.

Ellya crashed to the ground, landing hard on her back. She gasped and sucked air into her lungs. She tried to feel her hand, tried to see, but she couldn't move or hear. The world blurred and nothing but a loud ringing sounded in her ears. 

Hands grasped her face and gold and white swirled across the blue in front of her eyes. 

“Ellya.”

“Her arm.”

“I see it. Arlassan, quick.”

“Hold still, Boss.”

More tugs, and Ellya tried to blink past the haze. Her vision focused and Abelas’ face appeared in her sight. He looked more grave than she had ever seen him. His brow was creased and his eyes were wide, rapidly darting back and forth as if scanning every inch of her face. She tried to open her mouth to speak, but her throat burned and nothing escaped her lips. 

“Do not try to speak,” he said, and glanced over to her left. “Or move.” His voice was calm, but she could see the fear in his eyes, feel it in the tremors of his hands on her cheeks. Arlassan’s braids came into her line of sight and a warm prickling seeped into her shoulder. 

“It’s too far gone,” Arlassan murmured, his face appearing briefly before her eyes. Abelas jerked his head toward her arm and rapid elven hissed from his lips—an argument, by his tone, but Ellya couldn’t make out the words.

Her heart stuttered, and she felt the mark surging back to life. “Get back,” she croaked. A terrible pressure built in her stomach and began to spread. She could feel it this time. The power of the mark had spun too deep and claimed too much. Her body trembled as she felt the anchor preparing once more to explode. 

Abelas’ grip tightened and his fingers pushed her hair away from her face. “No,” he said fiercely and held her gaze. 

The pain spasmed and Ellya cried out. “Please,” she whimpered and felt the nerves along her skin prickle as if cut. “Get the Viddasala.” She didn't think she could hold on much longer, didn't think she could survive it again. 

Abelas splayed his hand against her left shoulder, holding her body down as his other hand cupped her cheek. “You will not give up,” he whispered forcefully. He shifted and pressed his lips firmly against her brow before pulling back. “Arlassan, tether our magic.”

Ellya groaned and closed her eyes, unable to protest. Choked by pain, she willed her body to fight against the power of the anchor. Her legs trembled and her remaining hand grasped for Abelas’ cloak. Just as the pain began to peak and her body felt forced to the ground by Abelas’ weight, a cool rush swept over her nerves—lightning and earth, the powerful and solid swell of a mountain under a summer storm. Abelas grunted and a green glow encompassed them both. Ellya clung to him, to his magic. The power of the anchor was staggering, the sensation past the point of pain, but Ellya’s eyes focused. He was giving her his strength. 

“You must expel it,” he groaned, his voice harsh and his breathing thin. He pinned her upper arm and his whole body shook against her side. “Now.” 

Ellya bit back another scream as the anchor discharged and blasted a pile of rubble to her left, the flesh at her elbow splitting under the force. In the next instant, the anchor began to ebb, like the lull between the crashing waves of a violent tide.

Abelas hooked an arm under her back and hurriedly pulled her upright. Sweat beaded across his brow. “You must remain close.” His words were strained, almost breathless. “I will help you manage the weight, but you must release the energy as soon as you feel it build.” He looked to her right, where the others were watching, pale and horrified, and spoke to Arlassan. “Heal her as we go, as continually as you can.” He glanced back to her but couldn't quite meet her eyes. “It should buy us enough time.”

Ellya glanced down to her left. The anchor swirled and formed a soft glow, the flickering outline of a hand. Nausea welled. She focused on the feeling of Abelas’ thumb running absent circles against her back, and tried not to think of his words or the truth she could see in his eyes and on the grim faces of her friends. Enough time, Abelas had said. To kill the Viddasala or to reach Solas, but not to save her life. 

“Let's get this done.” Her heart felt hollow and her throat as dry as the Silent Plains, but she forced the words past her lips. She glanced around the ruins. “We've lost too much ground.” 

Halani stepped forward and handed her her staff. Her eyes were wide and her face starkly pale against the darkness of her hair. She didn't say anything, just touched the fingers of her right hand. Ellya quickly looked away. 

“Boss…” Bull stepped close but Ellya began to walk. 

“We need to move.”

They had no choice but to follow. 

Traps and more Qunari attempted to bar their way, each new room or pathway filled with waiting foes, but the Sentinels and her own companions were precise. They moved as if one, a cohesive unit formed not through time but through purpose. If not for the pain, Ellya might have smiled at the sight. 

For her part, Ellya did what she could, but each step was agony. She staggered as they climbed the stairs and made their way through the ruins. The anchor’s power became a constant thrum just below her skin, its need for release arriving at shorter and shorter intervals as time went on. If not for Abelas’ magic coursing through her veins, it would have torn her in two.

Arlassan’s healing beat at her battered skin just as surely as the anchor tore, but Ellya could feel him losing the battle. His magic was no match for Fen’Harel’s power unleashed. 

Rounding another bend, Ellya raised her arm and cried out, aiming the destructive blast as best she could toward the Qunari down below before she bent to one knee. 

There, limping towards a giant eluvian across the small clearing, was the Viddasala. Blood stained the cloth along her right side and the giant saarebas at her side practically pulled her along. 

“The Viddasala,” she gasped and used her last bout of strength to push to her feet. 

Bull let out a war cry, more ferocious that Ellya had ever heard, and charged down the hill. Halani, Tamael, and Varric quickly followed. 

Two arms hooked across her back and Abelas and Arlassan easily carried her down. 

The Viddasala turned and shrugged away from her saarebas, a deep scowl across her face. “You end here, Inquisitor!” she hissed and jerked her head to the right. 

The saarebas grunted and lumbered from the base of the eluvian, the sky instantly darkening as unnatural clouds formed overhead. 

Straightening, Ellya planted her feet and gathered her magic as Abelas drew his dagger from his side. 

Bull reached the saarebas first, lunging forward with his sword as Varric and Tamael peppered the mage’s arms with arrows and bolts. Halani rushed around back and slashed her daggers across his legs. 

With a raise of her arms, Ellya covered her friends in the strongest barrier she could. 

“Go.” She pushed at Abelas when she saw him hesitate. He opened his mouth to argue, but Ellya pushed at him again. “Lightning will not do as much damage as your blade, and your magic is split enough as it is. Go.”

His lip curled in a half-snarl, but he nodded and turned. 

A crack of thunder boomed overhead. Five lightning bolts streaked from the sky and rammed into Ellya’s barrier. She gasped and staggered, but raised her hand to strengthen the shield. Arlassan’s grip on her moved her closer to the fray. 

Abelas and Bull coordinated their lunges, dodging in and out of the saarebas’ reach and spinning to dig their blades into the exposed skin of his thighs and arms. 

“Arlassan,” Ellya yelled over the lashing wind and thunder that struck all around, “the Viddasala, quick.” She could feel the anchor swelling, arcing out as if to reach the magical storm above. She needed a clear shot. 

She and Arlassan rushed around the saarebas, ducking as he spun and called the lightning to him in a tornado of power. 

There Viddasala sagged against the eluvian’s frame, one hand clutched at her side and her breathing labored. 

Ellya didn't have time to think. She simply threw her arm and body forward and the anchor wrested control. Her elbow shattered and the blast burst forward in an explosive lurch. 

_ Hurry. Through the eluvian.  _

A swift chill raked down her spine as the softly spoken words echoed in her head. She tensed and staggered forward. Abelas’ magic. Her own. The Well of Sorrows and the Mark of Fen’Harel. It was too many. She couldn't distinguish one voice from the next.

The wind whipped at her face, and her eyes widened as she saw the Viddasala stumble out of the rubble and scramble through the eluvian. 

_ You will not survive unless you go now.  _

Her feet broke into a run. 

Lightning struck to her left and then again to her right. She ignored them both and churned her legs. The saarebas would not last much longer against her friends, and then they could follow her through. Two more steps and she would be there. The Viddasala wouldn’t be able to run.

“Ellya!  _ Venavis _ !” 

The wind carried Abelas’ voice, but she was too close and she couldn't look back. 

“Boss!”

“Stop her!” 

Her friends’ words were swallowed by the boom of thunder and the swirling blue of the mirror’s surface. She felt fingers grasping as her back, but she flung herself through. 

Instantly, she felt her connection to Abelas sever.  Her feet landed on the grass on the other side of the eluvian and her lungs gasped for air against the onslaught of pain. The blue glow of the mirror went dull, and the magic sealed her in.

The mark crackled violently, but Ellya focused her eyes. Her jaw went slack and she stumbled back a step. A Qunari’s blade hung mere inches from her face, suspended in midair. Behind it, a dozen more lifeless Qunari filled a small glen, each one in various states of battle—their weapons raised or their mouths open in a warrior’s cry, and all turned to stone.

_ This way. _

Ellya staggered forward, her left arm clutched across her waist as she wove between statue after statue.

A faint, cultured voice floated across the eery scene. The same voice that had whispered within her thoughts. 

“ _ Erasit kara, Itwa-osr _ .”

Ellya’s heart thudded painfully in her chest and her feet stuttered. That was Solas. 

“ _ Maras kata _ !” The Viddasala’s angry voice groaned down from over a nearby hill. 

Ellya propelled herself faster, ignoring the crackle of energy that swirled around her arm. One step and then the next and then she was running, cresting the hill. The Viddasala’s eyes widened as she glanced at Ellya over her shoulder, but she struggled toward the figure at her front.

“Your forces have failed,” Solas spoke softly, his voice the same measured richness she had heard all those years ago. “Leave now and tell the Qunari to trouble me no longer.”

Ellya moved closer and then froze. Gone were the ragged robes and apostate bags. Gone was the slumped and unassuming demeanor. Solas stood there in golden Sentinel armor, a plush wolfskin draped across his shoulder and an assessing frown upon his face. Her mouth went dry as he moved. He walked calmly, strolling toward the Viddasala like a regal predator stalking before its prey.

Growling and clutching her side, the Viddasala lunged forward with her spear. 

In a small flash, Solas’ eyes glowed blue and the Viddasala turned instantly to stone.

A gasp left Ellya’s lips, an involuntary sound in the wake of such a nonchalant display of power. 

Solas turned his gaze to her, and she felt her knees buckle. This was not the man with whom she had shared her heart and her bed. This was not the quiet mage who had murmured secrets into her ear and laughed with her under the stars. This was Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, and she felt her chest seize with terror, every childhood nightmare flooding her thoughts as she fell to the dirt.

The anchor roared and crackled, filling her body with pain as he drew near. Ellya cried out.

Solas raised a hand, but hesitated. Kneeling before her prone form, he brought it back to his side. 

“This should buy us some time,” he said gently. His eyes flashed blue once more and the anchor dissipated. 

Ellya gasped and braced her hand against the ground as the marks power grew dull and docile against her skin.

Silence stretched across the small hillside. Neither Ellya or Solas moved. 

“I suspect you have questions.” The softness of his voice, so familiar and beloved, pulled Ellya’s gaze to his face.

Her heart racing, she pushed herself to her feet and watched as Solas did the same.

“Questions?” she whispered harshly. “That’s all you have to say?” Her eyes darted back and forth across his face and her fist clenched.

He considered her a moment, his lips pulling into a sad smile. “Shall I speak my regrets to you? Enumerate them one by one? I fear such platitudes would fall inadequate of your expectations.”

Ellya sucked in a shaky breath. Panic fluttered beneath her skin, but anger and the demand for answers pushed at her as well. “You could try.” Wrapping her right arm around her waist, she took a step back. “Tell me, Fen’Harel, what do you regret?”

Solas looked at her and frowned. “So now you know.”

“Now I know.” Ellya clenched her jaw and squared her shoulders against the trembling of her limbs. 

Solas’ eyes traveled slowly over her body and back to her face. “Well done,” he said softly, his shoulders rolling forward, as if pulled by a sad weight. He swallowed and looked away, focusing instead on the distant horizon. “If it comforts you to know, I was Solas first.” His words were faint, mournful. “Fen’Harel came later. An insult I took as a badge of pride. The Dread Wolf inspired hope in my friends and fear in my enemies.” He glanced back at her and a half smile formed on his lips. “Not unlike ‘Inquisitor’, I suppose.”

Ellya bristled at his attempt at simplification and camaraderie. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said, her voice coming out more strained than she intended.

Sighing, Solas turned back to her. “ _ Vhenan _ —”

“No,” Ellya interrupted harshly, and felt a petty sort of pride when she saw the hurt flash across his face. “You have no right to call me that.” She swallowed and took a step toward him. “Solas, you lied to me. You took me to your bed and told me you loved me, but let me believe you were someone else.” She pushed the remnants of her left hand toward his face. “You used me and left me to die with this!”

He remained still. “I did not wish to leave, and my love for you was not a lie,” he murmured. “I told you what I could. Everything else—who I was with you…” He sighed once more and looked away, “...that was more true than you know.”

Silence stretched again.

“I am sorry,” Solas continued softly. “I did not relish in deceiving you. You were...unexpected.”

A harsh bark of a laugh escaped Ellya’s lips. “And just what did you expect?” Her face felt cold as she glanced down at the anchor. “Did you give the orb to Corypheus, hoping to use him, just as you used me when that failed?”

Solas flinched. “Your anger is earned, but I am not the monster the Dalish paint me to be.”

“Another evasion,” Ellya sneered. “Is it so hard to answer a simple question?”

Frowning, Solas moved closer and Ellya stepped back. His manner was calm and beseeching, a perfect imitation of the Solas she once loved, but now she could only see it only as another mask. He was a wolf sprung free from its cage, and he could not be trusted.

“Ellya.” Solas spread his hands wide in a placating gesture and let out an exasperated breath. “Yes, I gave the orb to Corypheus, indirectly. After many millennia spent in uthenera, I was too weak to open it myself. But he should have died in the attempt. When he survived, my plans were thrown into chaos, and I saw the Inquisition as the best hope the world had in stopping him.”

Ellya stiffened. “And what exactly were your plans?”

Inching closer, Solas reached out, but Ellya again ducked away from his touch. “You must understand,” he murmured. “By creating the Veil and banishing the would-be gods, I sought to set my people free.” His hand dropped. “However, in doing so, I destroyed their world.” He stepped back and met her gaze. “My people fell for what I did to strike down the Evanuris, but hope for restoration still remains. Just as surely as you would fight to save the Dalish, I will save the Elvhen, even if it means this world must die.”

Ellya reeled back, her feet tripping in the process. “This world must die?” Her mind and heart raced. “Are you mad?” She swallowed and took another step away. Horror and realization froze her body. “You’re going to tear down the Veil,” she breathed. “The demons. The raw magic. They would kill millions.”

Solas simply clasped his hands behind his back. “I do not do this happily, but it is the only way. Sometimes terrible choices are all that remain.”

Ellya’s eyes whirled around frantically, her lungs struggling for air. “What was all this, then?” she threw her arm out toward the Viddasala. “Why help me stop the invasion? Why lead me here?”

Frowning, Solas tilted his head. “I am not cruel. You have shown me that there is value in this world. If innocents must die, I would have them die in comfort, and not under the oppressive rule of the Qun.”

Ellya’s mouth fell open. She could not believe this was the same man she had once proclaimed to love. 

“I will stop you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as her legs began to shake. She snatched her staff from the ground. 

Solas eyes softened, and he smiled. Ellya felt her stomach twist. 

“I know you will try,” he said smoothly, but then his face went grave, his eyebrows furrowing. “As to your second question, why I have led you here...”

Panic shot at her heart, and Ellya’s eyes widened. She twisted her body, raising her right hand to shoot fire from her fingertips.

“Stop.” 

It was a gentle word, barely a command, but Ellya felt the compulsion take root. It was the same compulsion she had felt from Mythal—a magical connection that was impossible to defy. Her body froze and her magic stifled. 

“Did I not warn you that it was foolish to drink of the Vir’abelasan?” Solas murmured, as he walked around to her side. Ellya could do nothing as he reached forward and cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin until it swiped across her bottom lip and settled at her chin. “You have learned too many of its secrets. I cannot risk you discovering more.”

His lips descended against her forehead, and Ellya felt the bile and fear rise in her throat. Solas moved closer, his arms curling to embrace her. She tried to force her body to move, to fight, but his compulsion struck too deep. 

“None but I could have born the mark and lived,” he whispered, “but your death would only cause more senseless chaos.” He drew back and stroked his fingers across her ear. “It is selfish of me, but I lured you here to say goodbye.” His gaze lingered over her frozen face. “And to save you, at least for a time.”

The compulsion that was holding her instantly released, and Ellya flailed against his chest, trying to beat him or singe him, anything to get away, but it was useless. His grip on her was like tempered steel and his magic too strong. She screamed as his hand fisted in her hair and the other curled around her left arm. The unmistakable lash and pain of power coursed across her flesh. Thousands of voices wailed within her head. The barriers she had so carefully constructed around her mind, and the control that she had fought so hard to build, ripped violently under his touch. He was emptying her, completely, and even the dying of her screams would not relinquish his torment.

“It will pass,” Solas whispered.  

Ellya’s world began to fade to blackness and her limbs hung lifelessly from her form.

“Live well, vhenan, while time remains.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abelas makes a decision.

Abelas’ hands slapped against the flat surface of the eluvian and his body froze in disbelief. 

He had been too late, his magic too spent to reach her in time.

And now she was gone—sealed behind a doorway that lay unbearably still. The full intensity of his power had rushed through his limbs, but he only could feel a sense of loss. 

Trembling, his hands spread against the glass. He pushed at the surface, his magic surging under his fingertips. Thunder and lightning still raged at his back and electricity prickled his skin like a brand. The Qunari mage was exhausting his power in his final battle before death, but Abelas ignored it. 

The eluvian flickered. A small blue flame pooled at its center, and Abelas pressed his magic harder. His teeth clenched, and the hinges of his armor creaked as his muscles strained. He was being spread too thin. His magic groaned against his will. With a gasp, he faltered, his body lurching forward, and his magic died. 

The eluvian fell silent and still. 

Abelas’ head whipped around, his eyes panicked as he tried to think. His power was not enough, but he could not sit here and wait, could not accept this defeat, not when he had given his vow.

The Iron Bull and Halani danced around the Qunari, striking out with blades and elbows and feet, anything to get him to the ground and stop the storm that continued relentlessly over head. Tamael shot at him from his perch atop a large boulder. Abelas felt his anger soar. Gathering his magic once more, he sprouted two spirit blades and sprinted toward the mage.

One hack and then two. Every inch of him felt on fire with impotent rage. He had followed Ellya to find Fen’Harel, battled against the Qunari in her name, even shed his duty and forsook uthenera in the slight hope that they each could find a new sort of peace in a changed world. When her body had failed to contain the power of her mark, he had not hesitated to give her his own, praying that it would be enough. Now, he felt trapped and reeling, and each hope on the precipice of being forever destroyed. 

Channeling his magic, Abelas lunged toward the Qunari, the nearest obstacle to vent his anger and sorrow. Plunging his spirit blades forward, Abelas bared his teeth. Wind and rain and lightning whipped against his armor and face. Ozone and the smell of sodden earth clung heavy in his nose. Halani twirled at at his side, her own visage one of determination and rage. They collided with the mage as one and ran him through. The Iron Bull roared, and with one final swing, he cleaved the mage’s head from his body.

The storm stuttered to calm, the clearing too quiet and drenched with the metallic tang of blood. Abelas’ spectral blades dissipated, and he staggered back toward the eluvian.

His hands once more splayed against the mirror’s surface. It was cool and quiet. The swirling blue energy had dimmed to a reflectionless red.

Varric hustled to his side. “What are you waiting for? Get that thing working,” he snapped. 

Abelas couldn’t answer, could only spread his fingers wider, unwilling to give voice to his helplessness.

Healing magic pooled across Abelas’ body, prickling at the cuts and bruises he had not realized he had sustained. 

“We could try,” Arlassan murmured. “But it's near impossible to force an eluvian open without its passkey. At least in this land.”

“Damn headstrong woman,” Iron Bull said through gritted teeth as he sheathed his blade onto his back. “There could be a thousand Qunari waiting for her on the other side of this thing.” His hand slapped the side of the eluvian with a dull thud. 

Arlassan eyed him carefully. “Perhaps she was counting on that.”

Abelas didn’t want to consider such a thought, that she would throw away her life so needlessly, but fear began to seep into his belly, rapidly cooling his anger into a heavy weight. She had begged him to leave her when the anchor first exploded. Perhaps she had thought to sacrifice herself if she believed there was no other choice. 

“What do we do?” Halani asked, her voice high-pitched and breathless. 

Tamael inched closer to the eluvian and scowled. “This was not the Qunari’s doing.”

Snatching his fingers back to his side, Abelas turned to stare at Tamael. “Fen’Harel?” A sudden hope pierced his despair. Abelas’ gaze darted to the eluvian and then back. Only the Dread Wolf would have the power to save Ellya from the anchor...if he chose to offer her his aid. 

Tamael’s lip curled upward in a sneer and he leaned back. “I wasn’t certain it was him until now, but I’ve sensed his power every time we’ve walked through. I simply assumed I was sensing the mark on her hand.” He met Abelas’ gaze. “Now, it’s plain as day. The Qunari may have found a power to blast these mirrors open, but I guarantee Fen’Harel has been controlling them the entire way.”

“Why would Chuckles lead us around in a circle and not just cut the Qunari off?” Varric asked and scratched his chin. 

Crossing his arms across his chest, Tamael raised a brow. “Why indeed?”

A sudden chill went across Abelas’ spine, a dark sense of foreboding as he gazed more carefully at the eluvian. “He has closed her in on purpose,” he murmured. 

“Get it open,” Iron Bull growled and began to pace. “We need a way through, and we need it now.”

“There’s enough magic between the three of us,” Tamael said, his voice suddenly filled with a bitter edge. “At least for a few moments. Not long enough for all of us to pass."

Abelas jaw went slack. “You would use your power for this?” It had been centuries since Tamael had wanted to call even the smallest wisp to his hand. 

Tamael simply stared at him. “I will expend any amount of magic if it means I get to stand before Fen’Harel and demand my release from his bonds.”

He turned sharply to the eluvian and smoothed his palm across the gilded frame. “Abelas and myself must go through, and Arlassan must remain here to anchor the spell, but we can’t guarantee how long it will hold. Probably just enough for one. Decide quickly.”

“It’s not up to debate,” Iron Bull said and moved his body to stand at Abelas’ side. “I'm your best bet with the Qunari.”

“And the rest of us?” Halani asked and shifted her weight, assessing the clearing. “Should we wait for you to return?”

“I say we head back to Halamshiral, if that's possible,” Varric said with a scratch of his chin. “They should at least know the rest of what we've found.” He nodded toward the dead saarebas.

Abelas wet his lips and spread his fingers once more across the surface of the eluvian. “Then let us begin. On my command.” He voice rang out clear, but he could not deny the rapid fluttering of his heart.

Tamael and Arlassan stepped close to his side and pressed their own palms to the mirror. Iron Bull huddled close at his back. Abelas glanced briefly at them and waited for each to nod, before he pushed his hands as hard as he could against the cold surface.

“ _ Sahlin! _ ”

A hissing crack sounded across the clearing, as if a whip had struck the sky above their heads. The ground trembled and Abelas’ vision dimmed. His own power leapt forward, sinking itself into the fathomless depths of the eluvian. His eyes glowed blue. He could feel the warm trickling of Arlassan’s magic on his left and the cold flames of Tamael’s to his right. Their three magics intertwined and Abelas pushed harder. The eluvian began to hum, a gentle murmur in a response to their power, as if they were waking a friend from sleep.

Suddenly, the eluvian seized, leashing their power and giving them a violent tug. Abelas inhaled sharply, forcing his legs to remain upright and his power to maintain control. He pushed himself even closer, his nose almost touching the mirror’s surface. The eluvian flared in a brilliant blue glow.

“Now!” Abelas roared and reeled back.

Tamael leapt through at his left, and Abelas felt the eluvian grow dim.

“Iron Bull!” he shouted, even as he willed the last vestiges of his magic to surge.

Iron Bull ran past Abelas and his body disappeared. Abelas didn’t hesitate. Digging his boots into the grass, he plunged himself forward.

He landed on his hands and knees on the other side. Instantly, he felt the eluvian wink back to dormancy. His skin buzzed and his limbs felt weak from expelling so much magic, but he didn’t have time to think of it. Pushing himself to his feet, Abelas quickly looked around.

His eyes widened as he took in the dozens of stone Qunari that littered the space.

“Shit.” Iron Bull held his two-handed sword high, but his grip was limp and his face pale.

Clenching his teeth, Abelas peered closer at the stone. 

“No doubt about who did this,” Tamael said and quietly knocked an arrow into his bow as his eyes scanned the hillside.

“None,” Abelas concurred.

A piercing scream suddenly filled the space. Abelas felt his heart stop.

“Ellya,” Iron Bull breathed. He spun toward the direction of the scream and tightened his grip on his sword.

Tamael seized Iron Bull’s arm. “Wait,” he hissed. 

Iron Bull looked at him as if he had grown three heads, and Abelas couldn’t blame him. His own feet begged him to rush to her aid.

The scream abruptly cut out, even as its remnants echoed over the boulders and hills.

Abelas unsheathed his dagger and gathered his depleted magic to his fist. “Caution,” he whispered and began to stalk toward the far hill.

His heart hammered in his chest. Tamael and Iron Bull slunk silently at his back, but the tension coiling within all three of them was a tangible weight. His eyes flicked in every direction, waiting for an attack as he walked through the stone Qunari and up the grassy hill.

Crouching, Abelas called his spectral blade into his hand and readied his other to cast as strong a barrier as he could for whatever onslaught he was about to face. Sucking in a slow breath and willing himself to calm, they crept to the crest of the hill. 

Silently, he nodded to Iron Bull and Tamael and peered over.

His eyes instantly found Ellya, and his heart gave a terrible lurch. She lay prone and lifeless at Fen’Harel’s feet. 

“No,” Iron Bull breathed.

Abelas willed himself to focus, to not panic. Her body was twisted and her face lay away from his view, too far to see clearly, but he could detect no movement. She lay as still as death.

His spectral blade winked out of existence and his mind went blank with shock.

Iron Bull suddenly tensed at his side and sprang forward with a roar. “You bastard!” Sword raised, he ran full speed toward Fen’Harel.

Fen’Harel looked up with a frown. Backing away from Ellya, he raised his hands. “Peace, my friend.” His eyes glowed blue and Iron Bull’s legs froze midair, clearly bound by a magical vice. “She is unharmed. Her body was simply too weak after the transfer, but I assure you, she is well.” 

Tamael tugged on Abelas’ arm. Together, they stood and warily entered the clearing. Fen’Harel turned to glance at them, but if he were surprised by their presence, he did not show it beyond a slight raise of his brow.

Within moments, Abelas was close enough to Ellya to see the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and a profound sense of relief filled his spirit. He knelt by her side and placed his hand on her forehead. As soon as his fingers met her skin, his eyes widened. Her left arm was completely gone below the bicep, the anchor obviously reclaimed by its master, but it was the silence within her mind that left him reeling. He cast a startled eye toward Tamael and then Fen’Harel. The Vir’abelasan was gone.

“What did you do to her?” Iron Bull demanded through gritted teeth.

“Merely what needed to be done,” Fen’Harel replied and clasped his hands behind his back. “I have saved her life.”

“Bullshit,” Iron Bull spat.

Fen’Harel’s lips pulled into a half-smile. “See for yourself, if you’d like.” Blinking, he released Iron Bull from his magical hold. 

Iron Bull stretched his muscles. Fixing Fen’Harel with an angry stare, he hurried to Ellya and crouched next to Abelas. His giant hand hovered over her damaged arm, and he muttered something in the Qunlat language. Abelas watched his body grow more and more tense, and ducked his head to force Iron Bull to meet his gaze. He could not risk speaking aloud, but he hoped the subtle shake of his head and wide glare of his eyes told Iron Bull enough, enough to exercise caution and remain silent. It was not wise to lash out at a god.

Strolling a few steps away, Fen’Harel looked curiously between Abelas and Tamael.

“I had not expected to find you here, my friends.” Fen’Harel dipped his head in a slight bow. His eyes slid to where Abelas’ hand was smoothing the damp hair away from Ellya’s forehead. “Though perhaps I should not have underestimated her ability to inspire devotion in the most unlikely of places.”

“We are not your friends,  _ harellan _ .” Tamael tightened his grip on his bow. “The only reason I'm here is to demand my release from your poison.”

Fen’Harel’s eyes jerked back to Tamael. “Yes, I understand,” he said gravely. “I have not forgotten your service, Tamael. Nor my promise to you that has been left unfulfilled.”

Silence stretched, and Abelas held his breath. He had not often been privy to the workings of the gods, but he knew enough that they were as dangerous in their benevolence as they were in their violence.

“I wish to make amends,” Fen’Harel continued. “If you seek the removal of your bonds, I will gladly grant it. It is your right. One that should have been completed long ago.” A beat of silence passed, and Fen’Harel raised his hands. “I swear to you, the world that has been broken will be made whole.”

Abelas brushed his fingers along Ellya’s brow and then slowly stood. “So it is as I suspected? You seek to give our people a new purpose and a new life?”

“He seeks only to assuage his own guilt,” Tamael said hotly. Iron Bull grunted in agreement at Abelas’ back. 

“Does my guilt discount the reality of what befell our people?” Fen’Harel said and glanced down at Ellya and Iron Bull. “Is it not better that I remain remorseful and strive to make amends?”

“And how is it that you will make amends?” Abelas said carefully.

Looking to the horizon, Fen’Harel sighed. “In the only way possible,” he said with a frown.  “By undoing my mistake and destroying the Veil.” He paused and stared at Abelas. “Our people must wake, and we must restore our world.”

Abelas pursed his lips to keep his composure. “The Sentinels have been laid to rest,” he said, his tone barely constrained. “Hundreds of them sent to uthenera by their desire and by my own hand. They were tired. Even myself and Tamael were en route to the Temple so that I too may consign myself to sleep.” He swallowed and tried to slow the rapid thud of his heart. “Last we met, you spoke of other duties. Other places. Is this what you wish of us now? To forego slumber and fight for your cause?”

Fen’Harel was quiet for a moment, and Abelas glanced at Tamael. His whole body was rigid with contained rage. Their eyes met and Abelas silently begged him to keep his peace.

With a furrow of his brow, Fen’Harel turned to them. “Indeed,” he whispered then cleared his throat. “You know all too well what we have lost through the ages. Our people have been destroyed and our magic sundered. It must be made right.” He turned to stare at Ellya. “It is not an easy choice, nor one I delight in making, but it is necessary. I promised the Elvhen I would free them. And so I shall.”

Iron Bull sprang from his knees. “And what about the rest of us? Because the way I see it, you tear down the Veil and a whole shit ton of demons get free rein of Thedas.” 

Fen’Harel held his chin higher and his lips twisted. “You think I will take pleasure in watching my friends perverted from their purpose? Of seeing them burn the world in order to rectify a mistake of my own making?”

“You’re a fool,” Tamael spat. “The world is lost and our people are gone. Your arrogance will only pollute it further.”

Abelas glanced down at Ellya, his throat constricting as his eyes traced the vulnerability and brokenness of her body. He met Iron Bull’s gaze, silently willing him to take her and run.

“And what of our descendants?” Abelas asked lowly. “The people who call themselves Elvhen in our stead?” He turned to Fen’Harel and saw a sharp sadness pass across his eyes.

“They are but shadows,” Fen’Harel murmured. “Cut off from the full potential of what they were meant to be. I am responsible for their creation, and I will mourn them when they are gone.”

The breath stole from Abelas’ lungs. He looked to Iron Bull, his face a clear picture of tortured disbelief. He knew Iron Bull would fight to the last breath to save his friends from such a fate. Abelas darted his gaze to Tamael, and Tamael stared back, unblinking as his fingers clenched his bow. His breathing was even and deep, but the clear rage in his eyes told Abelas all he needed to know. 

“And what of the other gods?” Abelas forced himself to say, kneeling down by Ellya’s side. His mind whirled, but he needed to continue, to hear the mighty Dread Wolf’s plan for salvation, even as he felt his belief slipping steadily away. “What of Mythal?”

Fen’Harel peered at him, and for the first time he looked suspiciously uncertain. “The others will be dealt with in time.” He pursed his lips and narrowed his gaze at Abelas. “As for Mythal...she was the best of us, and for her we must claim our vengeance.”

Iron Bull shifted at Ellya’s side and crouched. 

Fen’Harel stepped forward. “I will take you to her,” he said softly, a tone like honeyed water on a hot desert day. “Abelas, Mythal still has need of you.”

And just like that, the world seemed to shudder, to shift and realign in a way that made it seem new. A breath left his lungs, and Abelas sat back on his heels. Since the day the Temple had been sacked and his vigil rendered complete, he had longed to hear those words, to no longer toil but have a clear and unwavering purpose. His Goddess had been just, and he had found strength in serving her. But now, as he looked between Iron Bull and Tamael, as his hand spread against Ellya’s shoulder, a new reality settled starkly in his gut—he didn't want it. 

He didn't want to serve. Not anymore, and not like this. The price was too high. He thought of Arlassan and Halani and wanted them to live in their love. He thought of Tamael and wanted him to find his mortality. He thought of his brother, Talaros, and wanted to honor his memory of peace. He thought of his Sentinels, his friends, and wanted to spare them a continued existence of war and obedience. He wanted them to rest. His hands shook, and he blinked. He wanted to want. The idea of it, of putting his own desires above his duty to his gods, was so unsettling, Abelas could barely breathe. He looked down at Ellya again. The thought of the world once more in flames sickened him, of his friends in torment—of her in torment. Not even the possibility of an Elvhenan reborn could dull its edge. 

Time seemed to still, and Abelas trailed his fingers across her cheek. He bent close and let his lips graze lightly against her skin. “Live well,  _ ashallan _ ,” he murmured, his voice pitched low for her ears alone. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a small moment to remember her—the smooth feel of her skin beneath his hand and the gentle warmth of her breath against his lips. “I will attempt to buy you enough time.” 

Pulling back, Abelas stood. Fen’Harel watched him, carefully, curiously, and Abelas bowed his head. “We will join you, and offer you what aid we can.”

Iron Bull sucked in a quick breath. “You’ll what?”

Abelas turned. “Take her back to your city,” he said, his tone as neutral as he could manage. “I must fight for my people.”

Opening his mouth, Iron Bull looked ready to argue, but Abelas narrowed his eyes in warning. Iron Bull snarled. With a clench of his jaw, he hoisted Ellya into his arms and stood. 

“This isn't over, Solas.” Iron Bull stared him down. “Don't believe I'll be so civil next time we meet.”

“I would not expect so, but I am sorry it ended this way,” Fen’Harel said with a dip of his chin. Turning, he gestured to the eluvian at his back. “This will take you to the Crossroads. There you may find the passage back to Halamshiral. The Qunari are no longer an immediate threat. And neither am I.”

Cradling Ellya within one arm, Iron Bull plucked her staff from the ground and walked stiffly toward the eluvian. When it began to glow, he stepped through and disappeared. 

Abelas glanced at Tamael. His face was impassive but his eyes gazed at him intently. Abelas let his chin dip in a small nod. He hoped Tamael understood. He had no intention of helping the Dread Wolf. 

Fen’Harel strolled to Abelas’ side, his lips turned downward in a slight frown. “It is not easy to choose what is right over those we love.” He looked between Abelas and Tamael. “Come, there is much to be done.”

Abelas grit his teeth and bowed his head. “With your permission, I would lead you to where the other Sentinels lay in rest,” he said. “I only ask that you give each of us a choice. That you remove our vallaslin and permit us to sleep, if we so desire.”

“I have no wish to keep you as slaves,” Fen’Harel replied, his tone sharp, the mere notion clearly repulsive. “Any Elvhen who wishes to leave or sleep may do so with my blessing.”

Returning his gaze to Fen’Harel, Abelas attempted to smile, but his muscles froze tight, and all he could manage was a half grimace. “Very well,” he said evenly. “They are entombed in  _ Hamin Vir’mana _ , in the deep caverns.”

Fen’Harel’s brows rose. “That is no ordinary resting place.”

“No.” Abelas’ jaw twitched. “But it is where I hoped they could slumber in eternal peace.”

Moving forward, Fen’Harel placed a hand on Abelas’ upper arm. “They shall have peace. That is my promise to you.”

With a quick nod, Fen’Harel turned toward the eluvian and gestured them to follow. 

Abelas spared a glance at Tamael. His expression had gone cold and his eyes blank, but he followed. It was only in that quiet that Abelas found hope. Tamael understood and would follow him to the end.

* * *

 

The Crossroads took them to an eluvian within two days travel of the jagged cliffs of the North. It was an uneasy and solemn journey. Tamael scouted ahead, stoic and silent and as far from Fen’Harel as possible. Both Abelas and Fen’Harel were content to leave him that way. With Abelas, though, Fen’Harel attempted to engage in conversation, asking about his life in the Temple of Mythal and seeking to know more of his time after the Veil rose. He did not speak of Ellya or his time in the Inquisition, or ask Abelas of his own impressions, and Abelas was glad of it. Better that emotion was locked away, in order to do what needed to be done. 

On the morning the Arlathan Forest began to thin and the cliffs came into view, Abelas felt a certain calm clarity come over him. As the campfire cooled, he took his time in dressing, watching quietly as the mists swirled through the trees. This was his homeland, the place of his birth. It felt right that it would also be the place of his end. He thumbed the green lines of vallaslin that curled across his chest and over his arms and spiralled like roots up the back of his neck until they splayed as Mythal’s branches across his forehead. He could remember each etch of every mark and wondered what it would feel like when they were gone. With a heavy sigh, he pulled his shirt over his head and began to don his armor.

When the sun hit its peak, Abelas and Tamael led Fen’Harel to the hidden entrance along the jagged stone wall.

Pacing across the threshold, Fen’Harel eyed its magic with an inspecting glance.

“You have sealed them away,” he said, his tone approving. 

Abelas nodded. “We wished them to be as undisturbed as possible.” 

Turning with a frown on his face, Fen’Harel placed a hand on Abelas’ shoulder. “I will keep my promise. Those who wish to return to sleep”—his eyes flicked to Tamael—“and those who wish to leave, will be able to do so. I offer freedom with no ultimatums. And in the end, they shall all be welcome.”

Forcing a gentle smile, Abelas tipped his head into a slight bow. “Then let us begin.”

Fen’Harel released his shoulder and stepped closer to the entrance. With a small wave of his hand, the invisible barriers that had protected the cave came crumbling down. 

The rich smell of wet earth and the tang of lyrium rose to Abelas’ nose. 

Without hesitation, Fen’Harel stepped into the cave and disappeared. 

Abelas quickly glanced at Tamael. His features were calm and a slight smile graced his lips. It was a reassuring sight. Tamael’s lip twitched and he blinked, inclining his head toward the rock. It was time. 

Together they stepped into the darkness and began their descent. 

Soon, the bright glow of sunlight gave way to the deep dark of earth and the subtle glint of wet stone. Blue cracks of lyrium struck their way back and forth across the path. Abelas could hardly fathom that it had been only mere days ago that he had traversed this road with the heavy weight of sorrow permeating his steps. Now, he felt almost light and his vision clear. Ishala had asked him to seek his peace, and in a way, he had. He had chosen for himself, at least, and while the end of that choice remained grim, the freedom of the act had infused all else with a bittersweet sort of contentment. 

The tunnel curved and sloped. The suffocating space gave way to a high ceiling and brilliant flashes of blue. Rows upon rows of still sleeping Sentinels and Elvhen filled the room and at their center stood Fen’Harel. He gazed at the sleeping elves with a softness in his eyes, a tenderness that Abelas had not expected. As they approached, he raised his hands in supplication. 

“Our people will find greatness once more,” he murmured, almost to himself. His eyes fixed on them and he waited. 

Abelas turned his body and gestured to Tamael. “It is only right that Tamael be the first to be freed.”

Fen’Harel nodded. “Indeed.” He knelt down against the stone floor and gestured to the space at his front. “Please,” he said solemnly, “allow me to honor your sacrifice, and that of your husband Jae, and fulfill my promise to set you free.”

Abelas saw Tamael’s jaw clench at the mention of his long-dead spouse, but Tamael lowered himself to the ground and spread his arms. “I will take my freedom, Dread Wolf, but there’s no honor here,” he whispered fiercely. “You're not worthy to speak his name, no matter how you feel or how much you say you intend to make it right. Exalting those who died is nothing more than a hollow memorial to your guilt.”

“I understand,” Fen’Harel said and bowed his head. “And your anger is justified.”

“Then get it done so that I can leave.” Tamael closed his eyes. 

With a murmur of words, Fen’Harel raised his hands to Tamael’s face. They hovered and glowed. Tamael grunted, his body going unnaturally still for the fraction of a moment, before Fen’Harel’s’ hands moved and the glow spread. In its wake, Tamael’s vallaslin flickered bright and then dissolved into nothingness. 

Sitting back onto his heels, Fen’Harel sighed, a faint smile on his lips “ _ Ar lasa mala revas _ .”

Snorting, Tamael briskly stood and stepped back. 

Fen’Harel turned his eyes, waiting, and Abelas felt his mouth go dry. His legs felt weak as he stepped forward, carefully picking his way across the raw veins of lyrium than ran below his feet. Tremors began in his hands as he knelt to the ground, but he quickly clenched them into his lap. 

“May your service be your choice, Abelas,” Fen’Harel murmured, “and not one decreed by the circumstances of your birth.”

Abelas bowed his head as Fen’Harel’s hands raised. His heart began to thump wildly and he fought to control his breath. Each line of vallaslin held a memory, each stroke a devotion to a cause and a signifier of his belief. 

Fen’Harel’s hands began to glow and time seemed to stretch. 

Abelas’ eyes squeezed shut. Image after image flooded his mind as he felt the bonds upon him begin to break. 

He thought of his mother, her carefully collected face as she sold him to the Temple, and of the trembling fingers she laid on his face when she said goodbye. 

The skin on his cheeks burned as the branches of Mythal began to ignite. 

He thought of Talaros, his brother's laughter and his scorn, of him leading the Sentinels in prayer and in battle. And he thought of the sheer force of heartbroken love he felt when he died in his arms on Anaris’ red temple floor. 

Abelas’ shoulders tightened as the flame of magic scorched down his neck. 

He thought of Ishala and Tamael, his friends who had for centuries stood by his side, of their voices and memories that had been a constant and reassuring presence within his mind.

His chest ached as the buzz of power intensified across his form and the vallaslin prickled against his skin. 

Finally, he thought of Mythal, her terrible beauty and steadfast judgement. It was to her he had said his vows, and to her he now said goodbye. 

“ _ Ar lasa mala revas _ .”

The power dissipated and his body sank back. A broken sigh escaped Abelas’ lips. Tears blurred his vision as he opened his eyes. He felt light, and empty, a vessel drained of its contents and waiting to be filled. Trembling, his hand reached to touch the tingling skin of his face. His vallaslin were gone, and with them the bonds to his Goddess and to the sleeping friends all around. 

His eyes raised. Fen’Harel was smiling at him, a look of beaming pride across his face. Abelas swallowed and offered his hands, palm up. “ _ Ma serannas, hahren _ ,” he whispered. “It is a great gift you have given me.”

Fen’Harel reached out to rest his hands against Abelas’ own. “I am glad to give it,” he said with a bow.

Abelas’ eyes quickly flicked to Tamael, and then he lunged. Fen’Harel jerked back in surprise, his eyes wide, but he had been taken too unaware, lulled into complacency by the prospect of offering freedom. Abelas’ hands tugged on Fen’Harel’s’ wrists and pulled him down.

Tamael had already leapt forward. Grasping Fen’Harel around the neck, he plunged his dagger into the Dread Wolf’s side. 

They didn't have time to think or step away. Blood poured from Fen’Harel’s’ torso. Tamael spread his fingers across the wound and began to chant, digging into the blood’s magic and forcing it into his own. Fen’Harel thrashed and his eyes glowed blue. A roar erupted from his throat and the cavern began to quake.    
  


“No!” Fen’Harel shouted between gritted teeth. His body began to swirl with an inky blackness. Abelas felt his fingers begin to grow stiff, Fen’Harel’s magic fighting to keep him at bay. 

Tamael’s hand dug deeper, and Abelas twisted to bury his heels into the nearest lyrium vein.  More blood pooled and poured power into the magic that Tamael was straining to wield. 

Gasping, Abelas willed his hands to keep hold of Fen’Harel’s wrists, pulling on the lyrium to augment his strength. If he let go too soon, they would fail. Fen’Harel bared his teeth and his eyes turned a deadly shade of red. His form began to shift, a muzzle and sharpened canines sprouting from his face. Abelas’ eyes widened, and he barely had time to brace himself before the Dread Wolf lurched forward and sank his jaws into his shoulder. 

Pain ripped across Abelas’ body. His vision narrowed and began to swim with blackness as the wolf tore through his armor and into his flesh. His fingers began to slip.

“Now!” Tamael shouted and yanked Fen’Harel back. He lifted his hands high, drenched in the wolf’s blood, and began to bind him to the cavern floor with black ropes of magic. 

Abelas let go of Fen’Harel’s wrists. His left arm hung limply at his side, but his right dove for the nearest lyrium vein. His hand sank into the raw power and he gasped. 

Fen’Harel snarled and his magic lashed out. Strips of flesh tore from Tamael’s face. 

Collapsing against the stone, Abelas panted and turned. He curled his fingers against the lyrium and began to chant. “ _ Na melana saline _ .”

A shrieking whine pierced the air. Fen’Harel’s eyes widened and his face returned to his elven form. 

“Do not!” he screamed. His body flailed and the roof of the cavern began to collapse. He lashed out with a strand of inky smoke, leashing it around Abelas’ neck. 

Abelas’ breath choked. Digging his hand further into the lyrium, he pushed his body to call on as much magic as possible. His skin began to glow and his flesh tore, unable to contain the flow of power. 

Green flames sprouted across the cavern floor and rocks fell from above. Fen’Harel kicked at Tamael, and burned him with his fire, but Tamael snarled and curled his hands once more into the open wound. 

“You deserve death,” Tamael seethed and twisted his hand. Blood spilled and boiled from the wound, igniting Tamael’s veins into a violent red along his skin.  

Screeching, Fen’Harel thrashed and his magic faltered. 

Sucking in a gasping breath, Abelas threw his power toward Fen’Harel. “ _ In uthenera na revas _ !” His hands spread wide and he felt his body shatter against the tide that was the power of a god. 

The flames disappeared and Fen’Harel’s body snapped still. “Do not do this, brothers,” he whispered, his eyes already pulling closed, unable to fight the power of uthenera much longer. 

“It is already done,” Abelas whispered. He slumped against the floor and watched silently as Fen’Harel’s breathing slowed and his magic forced his body to sleep. 

The blue glow of the cavern dimmed. Abelas collapsed, his body and magic utterly spent. His chest rattled and gurgled as he breathed. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes and focus. 

Hands grasped at his arm and tugged him upright. “Move your feet,” Tamael growled and hoisted Abelas’ body up, supporting almost all of his weight against his side. 

Abelas tried to find purchase, but his feet slipped. Tamael grunted and wrapped both arms around his waist. 

“Leave me and seal us in,” Abelas muttered, his voice a pained groan. “That was always the plan.”

Snorting, Tamael began to drag them both toward the tunnel. “Your plan. Not mine.” He heaved them faster. 

Abelas glanced around. The lyrium had dimmed, but he could still make out the elves who slept nearby, their features serene even amongst the destruction their battle with Fen’Harel had wrought. Dirt and boulders had fallen from the ceiling, crushing some elves and burying the sleeping slabs of others. Abelas’ eyes whirled around, searching frantically for the faces of his Sentinels, his friends, but the room had grown too dark. His gaze alighted with anger upon Fen’Harel. He lay at the center of bodies, motionless and secure, and utterly alive. In that moment, Abelas wished he possessed the power to kill a god. 

Tamael pulled them through the entrance of the cavern, and Abelas tried to put his feet beneath him and walk. It was a slow, agonizing process. Each step magnified the pain of his wounds and caused them to split and bleed. Each step weakened him further. Abelas prayed to no gods except the strength of his body and the will of his mind that they would make it out with enough power to finish their task. 

One slow step after another, they finally reached the surface. Fresh, humid air filled Abelas’ lungs, replacing the stagnant smell of soil and blood. He fell to his knees in the sharp grass and dirt. Tamael bent at his side. 

“Together,” Abelas whispered, his breathing heavy. “It must be strong enough to last.”

Nodding, Tamael grasped Abelas’ hand and together they turned to face the cave. 

Their power flickered and joined. It was strained and repleted, a faint cry against the demands they had already made, but they pushed their hands upward. The words left their lips and the clearing glowed a brief, brilliant white. In its wake, Abelas gasped and fell to his back, his hand still clutching Tamael’s to his side. His duty was done. His mind was at peace. Closing his eyes, Abelas welcomed the darkness and finally let his body sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellya wakens in Halamshiral.

The first thing Ellya noticed was the silence. There was no gentle hush of whispers along her thoughts. There was no hum of companionship or murmur of voices within the depths. There was only a vacuous void, one that stretched inward and never seemed to stop. It was everywhere, and it was deafening. 

Her lungs filled with air and Ellya shifted, trying to blink. That's when she noticed the pain. Muscles pinched and joints stiffened. Her entire body ached, every nerve seemingly bruised and battered. With a moan, she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Shhh.” A soft voice filtered down from above and a cool hand smoothed across her brow. “Go slowly.”

Ellya blinked again, wincing against the light. Slitting her eyes, she tried to get her bearings. The silken canopy above her head and soft down against her skin were familiar. So too were the gilded bed frame and wafts of perfumed incense swirling in the air. 

Alarmed and suddenly alert, Ellya tried to sit up. She was no longer on that grassy hillside, surrounded by ancient elven ruins. She was back in her chambers at Halamshiral. 

A firm hand pushed her back down and Iron Bull came into view at her left. “Not yet,” he said with a frown. 

Ellya quickly glanced around. Halani and Arlassan stood at the bed’s right, with Varric and Josephine just beyond. Her eyes darted left, to the open door of her sitting room. Cullen and Cassandra were conversing with Briala and Dorian, their voices pitched low but their tone unmistakably grave. 

Ellya opened her mouth, her heart beginning to thud rapidly in her chest, but her eyes landed on her left arm and her voice died in her throat. 

It was gone. 

Her bicep was bare and bruised, streaked with jagged red scars, and her elbow was wrapped in gauzy white bandages, but everything below was simply...missing. Her arm twitched, trying to move fingers that were no longer there, and bile rose in her throat. 

Jerking violently, she heaved herself to the side of the bed and began to retch. Her stomach spasmed and her body shook, a cold sweat raking across her form. 

Iron Bull placed an empty pail below her head and rubbed her back. “Yeah, that's normal,” he said and pulled her hair away from her face as she continued to vomit. “The shock’s a real bitch. Let it out.”

A prickling sensation spread across her skin and Ellya felt her muscles begin to warm and relax, magic forcing her stomach to ease. She lay there a moment, staring mutely at the remnants of her arm.

Iron Bull dabbed a damp cloth along her mouth and urged her to her back. 

“Does this help?” Arlassan asked, his healing magic once more probing her aching muscles. He and Iron Bull shifted her forward and propped several pillows behind her back. 

All she could do was nod as she tried to process everything that had happened. The anchor was gone. The Vir’abelasan was gone. She had spent years sharing her body and her mind to that magic, of learning to grow and harness the power and listen to the hushed wisdom bubbling in her mind. And now it was just gone, ripped away without warning. 

“How do you feel?” Halani sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on Ellya’s leg. 

Ellya could only stare, her mind feeling sluggish and unfocused. Everyone had gathered near her bed, looking at her with open concern, but she couldn't form the words to express her heartache.

“What happened?” she croaked, bypassing Halani’s question. “How did I get here?”

Josephine handed her a small glass of water. Ellya took a few sips, her hand trembling, but the coolness felt good against the rawness in her throat.

“The Sentinels were able to fry the eluvian open to get to you, and I carried you back through the Crossroads,” Iron Bull replied. His foot slid the pail away from the bed, and he moved closer. “You’ve been out of it for about a day.”

Ellya’s eyes widened, the lapse of time jolting her mind to focus. “A day?” She tried to push the sheets off of her body, but grimaced when her muscles clenched in protest. “What about Solas? Or the Qunari?” She looked frantically around the room, her eyes landing on Cullen and Briala. “What happened with the gaatlok and Dragon’s Breath?”

Cullen frowned and shifted his hands against the pommel of his sword. “Our troops followed the spies back to a fortress called the Darvaarad. They were able to neutralize the Qunari and clear the barrels of explosives.” He cleared his throat. “And the live dragon they were keeping there.”

Iron Bull put a steadying hand on her back. “They’re running scared back to Par Vollen. With the Viddasala dead, they won't try anything anytime soon.”

“And Solas?” She couldn't help the tremor in her voice.

“The Qunari weren't the only ones with spies.” Briala stepped forward and crossed her arms. Her mouth was set in a hard line. “Quite a few elves have disappeared, both from my staff and from the Inquisition’s ranks. Those who knew them are saying they left to follow Fen’Harel.”

Ellya tried to stand, but Iron Bull urged her back down with a disapproving stare. She tried to swallow past the rancid taste of bile in her mouth. “He’s building an army.”

“Yeah, we know.” Sighing, Iron Bull sat next to her. “We couldn't get to you for a while. He tell you what he's planning?”

“He told me enough.” Ellya stared straight ahead and clutched her remaining arm across her stomach. “Enough to know we need to stop him at any cost.”

With a twist of his lips, Iron Bull leaned close. “Then you know what he plans to do? With the Veil?”

She swallowed. “Yes,” she said, her voice a strained whisper. “At least in part.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced her breathing to calm. She could not panic. Solas had won a small victory, but she was not defeated. She opened her eyes and searched the faces of those around her, needing to see their steadfast support. 

“You spoke to him?” she asked.

“I did. Sort of,” Iron Bull said bitterly. “Same pompous ass as usual.” His face smoothed and his brows drew into a frown. 

Ellya nodded automatically, even as she felt nausea begin to rise once more. She could still feel Solas’ touch against her skin, his embrace as he wrenched back his power and kissed her forehead like a brand. Could still hear the loving tone of his voice as he promised her he would destroy her world. 

She wet her lips and turned to face Briala. She needed to work, to plan. Everything else could wait. “Okay, we should start with your network. Tamael might have some ideas we could use.” 

A strange shifting silence greeted her words. Frowning, Ellya glanced around the room. “Where is he?”

“We don't know,” Iron Bull said. His jaw ticked and he couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “Last I saw, they were still standing on that hillside. Alive and well.”

Ellya’s mind whirled. “They?” Her heart skipped and her body suddenly felt cold. She frantically searched the room with her eyes as the realization hit her. Abelas was gone, too.

“Boss,” Iron Bull continued, his tone wary, “Abelas and Tamael went with Solas.”

Her whole being seemed to still. “What?” 

“Solas asked for their help. Abelas said yes.” Iron Bull’s face scrunched up into a frown and his hands clenched into fists. “I left with you, and they stayed.”

Ellya’s mouth and jaw worked open and closed, and she looked disbelievingly around the room. It was several moments before she could form a coherent thought. Her breath left her in a stunned whoosh, and she cupped her forehead in her hand. She shouldn’t have been surprised. It had always been Abelas’ plan to seek out Solas and ally with him if he desired to help the Elvhen. She herself had even vowed to help, but that didn’t stop a dull ache from settling over her heart. It still felt like a betrayal. 

Ellya swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Even Tamael?” She couldn't help but think about the argument she had unwittingly overheard, about Tamael’s biting words and repulsion toward the idea of following Solas willingly. 

Arlassan sighed. “It seems so. I haven't been able to reach either of them through the Fade.”

Still frowning, Iron Bull shook his head. “It doesn't make sense. Something was off.”

Ellya nodded, barely listening, and the pain in her chest only seemed to get worse. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she said evenly and pushed herself to stand. She couldn't think of it. Not now. 

“Ellya…”

Halani’s voice was a quiet rebuke, and a quiet outreach of concern, but Ellya ignored it. She was tired of reacting. Tired of things happening to her and having no control. It was time for action. She staggered toward the vanity. Her official uniform for the Inquisition hung from the back of the chair. “Josephine, how are the nobles?”

There was a momentary silence, and Ellya could practically feel the exchange of worried looks, but Josephine eventually stepped forward. 

“They're unruly,” she said with a slight downturn of her mouth. “And demanding answers. We informed them of the Qunari plot, but some are suggesting that it’s just a ploy to keep you in power.”

Ellya chuckled humorlessly. “Of course they are.” She glared down at her left arm. Bitterness, powerful and raw, spiked into her heart. Nothing would ever be enough. No sacrifice deemed worthy, but she refused to let it matter anymore. Straightening, she tugged at her uniform. “I need to speak with Leliana, and you, Briala, but let the Council convene.”

Several of her friends looked ready to argue.

“Ellya…” Dorian reached for her, but she stepped back. 

“Shouldn’t you rest?” Cullen asked, his face pinched in alarm.

Shaking her head, Ellya couldn’t even find it in herself to offer him a reassuring smile, to tell him that she was fine. “No. We have work to do.” She stared at him. “Please get Leliana for me.”

He hesitated a moment, but Cullen eventually bowed and left the room. 

“I’ll let the dignitaries know we’re ready to proceed,” Josephine said quietly. She smoothed her ruffled gown and turned to Dorian. “Find Vivienne. We’ll need her help. This will require a delicate touch.”

Dorian nodded, his usual charm and humor absent in the morose mood of the room. He gave Ellya one last long look, but together, he and Josephine left. Slowly, the rest of the group dispersed, each promising to find ways to help, until only Halani and Briala remained.

Sitting down at the vanity, Ellya wiped a cloth across her brow and fiddled with the tangled strands of her hair. 

Quietly, Halani approached and placed a hand on Ellya’s shoulder. “Talk to me?” she implored. 

Ellya loosened the tie around her braid and concentrated on keeping her fingers moving. “I'm fine.” 

Halani’s fingers began to move in a rhythmic circle. “No, you're not,” she murmured. “Nobody could be. Ellya—”

“Please—” Ellya interrupted, her voice a harsh whisper. She grit her teeth as she felt her eyes well with tears. “Don't. I can't afford to deal with it now.”

Halani pursed her lips, swallowing whatever words she wished to say, and silently knelt. She began to check and adjust the bandages around Ellya’s amputated arm. Ellya winced, but part of her began to feel remarkably numb. 

“I assume you have a plan,” Briala said, casually leaning against the footboard of the bed. 

“Yes.” Ellya blinked away the unwanted tears, glad of the distraction. “I do.”

“Good, because neither side will be content unless you give up your power, in one way or another,” Briala continued. “And they won’t believe any story you spin about mythical gods.”

“I know,” Ellya replied. She rolled her head to stretch the muscles of her neck. “I have no intention of holding on to my ornamental power, nor of telling them about Solas.” Her voice slipped against the name and she paused. Tilting her head, she spoke over her shoulder. “Did you know?” she asked quietly. “About Solas or Fen’Harel. That he was the one who stole the eluvians?”

Briala frowned and shook her head. “No, but perhaps I should have.” She looked away, her eyes lingering on the window. “The signs were there. And I think a friend tried to warn me, in a way. I should have paid better attention.”

Halani let go out Ellya’s bandages, and Ellya turned in her chair. “Will you help me stop him?”

“Yes, of course,” Briala replied. 

“Because if somehow he is luring elves, making false promises,” Ellya continued. “Then I need to know that I can count on you.”

Briala’s eyes snapped back to Ellya’s own, her face hard and angry. “I’ve already watched my people burn once, Ellya. I’m not about to let it happen again. Never doubt that we are allies in this.”

Ellya nodded and slipped her arm into her uniform’s sleeve. She felt detached, as if she were watching herself go through the motions from a great distance away. “Thank you. I’m sorry to press,” she murmured. She cleared her throat and grabbed her hairbrush. “We need to look for more spies. And to follow the elves that are turning to him. Find out what he's telling them, because I doubt it’s the same things he told me. He plans to bring down the Veil, but if he’s also building an army, we need to know why.”

A knock sounded at the sitting room door, and Halani rose to answer it. 

Briala watched her leave the room, and then moved close, taking the hairbrush from Ellya’s hand to resume the task. “You need to be careful,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Ellya raised an eyebrow. “Because it doesn't get easier. Being betrayed by someone you love leaves a permanent sort of mark.” 

Their eyes met in the mirror, and for the fraction of a moment Ellya felt the reality of her situation flare painfully into life. She sucked in a breath. 

“Use it wisely,” Briala continued, setting the brush down and running her fingers through the last tangles of Ellya’s curls. “It's too easy to let it blind you.”

Halani hustled back into the room, and Ellya looked away from Briala. Right behind her, dressed in her leathers and a dark hood, Leliana stepped into the bedchamber and closed the door. “We don’t have much time,” she said, her voice hurried and hushed. “My decoys are distracting the guards, but I'll be expected to oversee proceedings very soon, and I cannot be seen here.”

Ellya’s legs trembled as she rose from her chair. Her coat sleeve pooled limply off her left arm, and her uniform suddenly seemed like a disgusting weight, one that had given her nothing but pain. 

Taking in a deep breath and ignoring the nausea that welled in her belly, Ellya faced Leliana. “Do you remember the offer you made to me when we walked through your gardens?”

“Of course,” Leliana said carefully, her face a perfect mask of neutrality.

Ellya swallowed. There was only one clear path ahead and she needed to take it. “Good,” she said, “because I would like to reconsider my answer.”

Leliana tilted her head slightly, the only indication that she was surprised. “You wish to join the Inquisition with the Chantry?”

“Yes, I do,” Ellya said evenly. 

“That’s a surprising change of mind.” Leliana moved further into the room and settled against the armoire.

Ellya stiffened. “There’ve been a few surprising changes lately.”

Leliana’s gaze softened and her lips turned downward into a slight frown. “Yes, forgive me.”

Clearing her throat, Ellya pressed on, not willing to dwell on the uncomfortable ache in her chest. “We need to be ready for whatever Solas has planned,” she said firmly. “And the only way we can do that, is to have our forces prepared and the resources readily available.”

Briala and Leliana exchanged a glance. “What are you proposing?” Briala asked.

Smoothing her palm across the crushed velvet of her coat, Ellya pursed her lips. “I’m proposing that the Inquisition be refashioned as a smaller peacekeeping force under the guidance and discretion of the Divine.” She gestured to Leliana. “The Inquisition was formed by Divine Justinia through a writ, an order to be called upon when a need arises. So, it should remain that way, and the majority of the troops should be allowed to go home.”

Leliana tapped a finger against her chin. “It will be hard for any nobles to argue against that.”

Ellya nodded. “I will also renounce my title as Inquisitor, and any claim to its armies.” She flattened her hand against her stomach. “But Skyhold is the only home I have left. I'll need to reach some sort of settlement that will allow me to continue on there. Rightful taxes paid and trade tariffs accepted. Without an army at my side and no anchor in my hand, surely Fereldan won't still see me or Skyhold as anything but a new ally to their kingdom, and a useful trading post between nations.

“Either way,” she continued, “the Inquisition needs to remain prepared to fight.”

“That takes care of the nobles,” Briala said, “but Solas has spies of his own. He will try to infiltrate our ranks.”

“Yes,” Ellya sighed, “which is why, just like Solas did, we will use the Viddasala’s invasion plans to our advantage. While you maintain our troops under the pretense of a potential war with the Qunari, Briala and I can work on our true agenda.” She raised her palm in a plea toward Briala. “We must unite the elves.”

Briala’s brows rose. “Unite them?”

Ellya nodded emphatically. “City, Dalish, slaves. We need to come together. Solas is promising them something, and we can't just fight him. We need to circumvent him. Offer something better—an elven homeland in this world.” Briala and Leliana gaped, but Ellya pressed on. “I’ll call for a  _ hahren’al  _ and plead my case to the Keepers. It is my right as...as Keeper of Clan Lavellan.” Her throat closed at the title and her hand balled into a fist. The pain of memory and grief was immense, almost overwhelming in its intensity. She had failed Lavellan, had let others dictate her actions and had led them to their deaths, but the world was her clan now, and she would do everything in her power to succeed. “You can make contacts within the other alienages and have the Chantry set precedence for lands to be set aside. But Skyhold and the valleys below can be a temporary refuge.” She paused and let the full extent of her anger wash over her. “With the elves united, and the forces of the Inquisition and Chantry at our disposal, Solas will not find us so easy to burn.”

Briala’s eyes crinkled and Leliana smirked.

“Call it what you will, Ellya, but the Maker chose well when he sent you from the Fade.” Leliana rubbed a hand across her chin and sobered. “It will take time, and very precise negotiations—nobles who have been bristling at an Inquisition army will riot at an Elven homeland—but it's a good plan.”

“Yes,” Briala agreed, “and not an easy one. Spies will still get through, and relations between elves and humans, or City and Dalish will be strained, even under a common purpose.”

Ellya sighed. “It will never be easy, but I won’t sit by and watch the world suffer. Not elves, humans, dwarves, or Qunari. Not when I have a choice in the matter. Or the power to help.”

A loud knock sounded at the sitting room’s door. “Inquisitor, the Council has convened.” 

“We are agreed, then,” Leliana said and began to pull up her hood. 

Ellya and Briala nodded. Each woman took a moment to consider the other, quietly appraising and appreciating the severity of the tasks that lay ahead and the faith they would need to have in one another.

“Ready?” Briala asked and gestured toward the door.

“Yes,” Ellya said and squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”   
  


* * *

 

It wasn't until hours later, long after all the council meetings had closed and the adrenaline had worn off, that Ellya allowed herself to feel. 

Alone in the darkness of her bed chambers, she stood motionless, staring at her candlelit reflection in the mirror. Negotiations had gone well. Skyhold was hers and the Inquisition belonged to Leliana. A tremulous, but important, peace had settled across southern Thedas. A good first step. But Ellya’s eyes and face couldn't reflect that triumph. They stared back at her, hollow, like the emptiness that threatened to swallow her whole. 

She stepped closer to the mirror, examining the fine lines around her eyes and mouth, the hard set of her jaw, and the folded and pinned cloth around her battered and cleaved arm. She was barely recognizable as the woman who had stepped into Haven all those years ago, and a cold stab of anger built at the sight. 

Ellya yanked at the sash across her chest. The Inquisition uniform snagged and ripped under her fingers, and the crest hung limply from her shoulder. She sneered and yanked harder, popping several buttons from their seams, until the front spilled open. It wasn't enough. Her breathing grew ragged. She felt angry and sick and needed to get the clothing off. She tore and tore. Her arm grew clumsy and weak. The cloth became tangled. Crying out in frustration as it twisted around her waist, she stumbled to her knees.

A hoarse sob tore from her throat. Her chest heaved and her body trembled. Tears began to spill down her cheeks, the vacuous void within her suddenly filled with the overwhelming waves of grief. 

“Why?” she whispered. “What more can you possibly take?”

Sinking to the floor, Ellya stared at the bandages wrapped around her elbow. Her fingers brushed against the gauze and her breath caught against another sob. She squeezed her eyes shut and curled into ball, wrapping her arm around her knees. Outside, before the Council and before her friends she could be strong, could pretend to be in control. But alone, there was nowhere to hide.

Ellya allowed herself to cry, allowed the tears to streak over her cheeks and drip in a mess to the ground. She didn't know how long she sat there, her coat twisted around her waist, as she sobbed on the floor, but she needed it. She needed to mourn. Another tragedy. Another betrayal. Another thing to try to break her. The world had already taken so much, and she couldn't fight for it without saying goodbye. She cried for her clan, for her friends and family. She cried for her parents, for Deshanna. She cried for Solas and for the people he would lead to their deaths, and for the people she would lead to theirs in order to stop him. She cried for the Vir’abelasan, for Ishala, for the memories she had shared and learned and the people she hoped to never forget. She cried for her broken body. And she cried for Abelas, wishing she could ask him why, and cried for allowing herself to say goodbye to the friendship and feelings she never would have the chance to explore.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, she wiped her cheeks and pushed her numbed legs to stand. Her tears had run dry, but they would be back. She had grown accustomed to sorrow and now knew its ebbs and flows. Slowly, more calmly, she stripped the rest if her uniform from her body and let it fall to the floor. She no longer needed it. Sliding under her sheets, she closed her eyes and sighed. The silence was back, and it its void she allowed herself to fall asleep. 

* * *

 

Skyhold was bustling with activity when Ellya rode through its gates nearly a week after the conclusion of the Exalted Council, and news of the Council’s decrees must have already reached the people within. Tradesmen and merchant tents crowded the courtyard, their owners noisily hawking their wares, and the tavern overflowed with music and laughter. Horses nickered and whinnied, while smoke and the smell of drying spiced meat filled the air. Left and right, soldiers were dismantling tents and packing their belongings into wagons, preparing for their journeys home.

Ellya dismounted Da’Vir and walked him toward the stables. A small elven boy rushed out to take his reins and bowed low to her with a smile. 

“Welcome back, hahren.” The boy patted Da’Vir’s muzzle and tugged him into a small paddock.

Ellya felt a smile tug at her lips, a small crack in the permeating grey, as she watched the small boy begin to unhook Da’Vir’s saddle and bridle. She breathed in the smell of hay and quietly listened to the idle chatter that surrounded her. For a week, she had felt raw and exposed, a constant tension just below the surface of her skin. But as she looked at the rough stone of Skyhold’s walls and felt the unnaturally warm breeze brush against her cheeks, a sense of familiarity and comfort began to take hold. It was not the home to which she had been born, but it was the one she had claimed.

Halani emerged from the stables and hooked an arm around her shoulders. “I’m famished,” she said with an exaggerated groan. Smiling, she steered them toward the kitchen entrance to the castle.

Ellya chuckled. “I’m sure Illowyn will have something to offer you.” She nudged Halani as they began to climb the steps. “If you ask nicely.”

Halani glanced at her sideways and grinned. “I always ask nicely.” When they reached the top, Halani pushed on the wooden door and held it open for Ellya to enter.

The hallway was dark and cozy, and the smell of bubbling stew and baking bread hit Ellya full force. She stepped inside and sighed. 

“Are you coming with me?” Halani asked as she made her way toward the kitchen door.

Ellya rolled her shoulders and shook her head. “No, I think I’m just going to go rest in my room for a while.”

Pausing, Halani turned to look back at Ellya, a hopeful tenderness entering her eyes. She bit her lip and fiddled with the end of her braid. “Can I bring you some tea later?” she asked quietly. “We could read together by the fire.”

Part of Ellya wanted to say no. She wanted to hide away and distance herself from anything that had happened, but Halani was her friend. And even if it felt like bitter medicine, company and love were the only cures she knew for grief. 

“I’d like that,” Ellya said, and felt her heart tug as Halani’s expression brightened and smoothed. She cleared her throat and offered Halani a small smile. “Go. Eat. I’m going to bathe. I’ll see you later.”

Halani eyed her for a moment, but she soon nodded and offered Ellya a smile of her own and disappeared through the kitchen doors.

It was a slow process to make it up to her rooms. Even though Ellya had deliberately chosen a more discreet path through the castle, she was stopped regularly along the way. Some people wanted to gossip. Others wanted to express condolences and wish her well. Still more simply seemed worried about the future. She did her best to allay those fears, finding it a strange sort of comfort to slip back into the role of leader and to soothe those worried about their positions within the castle and what would become of Skyhold. Some people stared at her arm, though they tried not to, but most seemed to treat her just the same as when she still held the title Inquisitor. 

As Ellya finally ducked behind the doorway into her private stairwell, she wondered if that would change in the months to come, if her authority would vanish with her army. 

Ellya pushed open the door to her room and slowly stepped inside. It felt exactly as she had left it before riding to Halamshiral and the Exalted Council. It had been cleaned, but paperwork was still strewn about the desk, a book lay half open on the stand by the hearth, and her favorite dressing robe was folded neatly at the foot of her bed. Closing the door behind her, Ellya frowned. It felt odd to see her room so untouched, when she herself felt irrevocably changed. 

Ellya shook herself and stepped into the bathing room. With a flick of her wrist, water filled the metal tub and warmed to the almost scalding temperature she preferred. Her teeth clenched as she fumbled with the fastenings of her cloak and struggled to get her shirt over her head. It was a concentrated effort to keep herself calm enough to get undressed. The muscles in her back and shoulders felt incredibly sore, unused to the new uneven distribution of work, and her fingers were clumsy without the aid of her left hand. 

A soft sheen of sweat broke across her brow by the time she was fully naked. With a deep steadying breath, she unwrapped the bandages from her elbow and lowered herself into the bath. 

Her skin instantly prickled, the temperature of the water almost too hot, but Ellya rejoiced in the sensation. A week on the road, of hiding her emotions and stress, had taken a toll, and the pain of the bath oddly allowed her body to relax. 

Gingerly, she cupped her left bicep in the palm of her hand. Arlassan had tended to it every day on their journey home, but magic as strong as the anchor left marks, and some things even he could not heal. Sighing, Ellya dipped the stub into the water and watched the scars turn an even angrier red under the surface. She closed her eyes. 

Tipping back her head, she wet her hair and then sank completely. Here, she was weightless. Here, the water whooshed against her ears and washed out the silence within. Here, with the world dark, and she could almost pretend she was all right. 

A loud knocking brought Ellya back to the surface. Wiping her hand across her face, she frowned. She didn’t think she had taken so long talking to people that Halani would already have arrived with the tea. The knock sounded again, though softer. 

Sighing, she stood. “Come in!” she called. Stepping out of the tub, she wrapped herself in a green robe and wrung her hair out with her hand. She fumbled with the metal fastening at her waist as she walked toward the main room.

“Did Illowyn shoo you out already?” She ducked around the privacy curtain. “I—”

Her words cut short and her eyes widened. 

Abelas stood at the top of the stairs, his hand resting uncertainly on the banister.

Relief and shock hit her instantly, and her mouth hung open. 

He was dressed not in his golden armor, but in simple leather breeches and a linen shirt, and his typically braided hair hung loosely down his back. His face pinched and he eyed her warily, the crease between his brows deepening as his gaze traveled up and down her body. 

That's when she noticed it.

“Your vallaslin,” she gasped and stepped forward, raising her hand to touch his cheek. 

His features smoothed. Reaching up, he curled her hand in his. “Yes,” he said. His voice seemed to waver but his fingers held her firm. “It was time.”

Ellya darted her eyes back to his. They were soft, the lids half closed and the golden hue more bright without the green marks across his skin. “You came back,” she whispered. 

Abelas’ thumb moved in a slow caress across the back of her hand. “I never desired to leave.”

An instant tension snapped with his words, and Ellya felt something within her break. She fell forward and buried herself against his chest. His fingers let go and his arms wrapped around her back, holding her tight. 

“I was worried,” she murmured and turned her head to listen to the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear. “Arlassan wasn't able to find you in his Dreams. I didn't know what to think when Bull said you went with Solas.”

Abelas’ hands trailed over her back and his fingers twined into the wet strands of her hair. “It was never to aid Fen’Harel in his cause. He has become a mockery of himself, his goals perverted by his centuries of guilt.” His chin dipped and rested against the top of her head. “And his price was too high.” His hand loosened from her hair and wrapped gently around her left bicep. 

Ellya pulled back and searched his face. His lips were drawn into a tight line and the crease had reappeared between his brows. 

Abelas bent his head toward her arm, his fingers stroking soft circles along her skin until they brushed against the twisted scars around the stump of her elbow. Ellya shivered at the contact. 

“Are you in pain?” he asked, his brow pinching even more. 

Ellya swallowed, and drew in a slow breath. “No,” she lied. Abelas’ eyes flicked to her own, his stare intense and stripping her to the core of her grief. 

Moving her right hand, she brought her palm to his jaw and allowed her fingers to trace the now bare skin down his cheekbone and neck. As his lips parted, she slowly pushed back the collar of his shirt and exposed the unblemished skin where lines of vallaslin had once marked his body for centuries. 

Her thumb grazed his collarbone. “Are you?” she whispered.

Abelas caught her hand again, and pressed it against his chest. “It has already begun to fade.”

Ellya felt her heart skip. She was all too aware of his eyes on her face and the rough touch of his thumb moving across the back of her hand. It scalded her almost as much as the water from her bath. “Will you tell me what happened?” she asked gently, tugging on his hand to lead him away from the stairs and further into the room. 

A faint smile spread across his lips and he dropped her hand. “Of course, there are many things we need to discuss.”

Ellya settled against the footboard of her bed and watched him as he looked around. His gaze was contemplative and curious. His hand trailed over the back of her sofa and his eyes flickered from her desk to the piles of furs strewn across her bed, taking in the details of her room in slow precision.

“Is Tamael with you?” Ellya asked and picked at a loose thread of embroidery in the bodice of her robe. “Is he all right?”

Abelas’ hand paused in its course along the sofa. “Yes. He is currently with Arlassan and Iron Bull.” He looked at her and moved closer, leaning against the bedframe at her side. “Relaying to them what we have done.”

Ellya glanced at his bare forehead. “And what have you done?”

Abelas turned to her and a grave look entered his eyes. “A blasphemy. We lured him to a place where we could augment our powers, and then we struck.”

A small sound escaped Ellya’s lips. “You fought him?” Her eyes frantically roved over his body, looking for injury. “How? His power…”

Abelas grimaced and rubbed a hand against his shoulder. “His power was vast indeed. It took everything we had to subdue him long enough to force him into uthenera.” He glanced sideways at her. “I did not believe we would survive, but it needed to be done.”

Ellya gaped at him. Reaching over, she moved his hand and pushed his shirt aside. His shoulder was badly bruised and dozens of jagged puncture marks marred his skin. Her eyes widened. “These are bite marks.”

Shrugging, Abelas pulled his shirt back into place. “They will heal.”

Ellya stood and began to pace. “You forced him into uthenera? I didn't know that was possible.”

Abelas caught her wrist and pulled he back to stand before him. “It is, but it will not last,” he said with a deep frown. “Tamael and I spent days reinforcing the shields, but he is too powerful, and the Fade is his domain. It is only a matter of time before he wakes. Most likely only months.” He wet his lips. “We must plan for when that day occurs.”

Ellya stared at him. “You want to stay and help?” Hope trickled into her chest, but she fled from it. “Why? I thought you wanted to follow him. Wanted to restore the Elvhen.”

Abelas’ fingers loosened from her wrist. Half-sitting against the footboard and her standing almost between his knees, they were practically the same height. He leaned forward and met her gaze. “Can you not understand? My life has been dictated by my servitude. By the blood magic bonds that were branded into my skin and my spirit before I was even grown.” His face twisted. “Indeed, I found honor and peace in such a purpose, in following the justice of Mythal, but I have never been given a choice. Never been afforded the chance to follow my own steps and desire something for my own.” He sighed and sat back, his eyes once more growing soft. “But I do desire something. I desire to be bound to no one but myself. And for myself, I have chosen to do what I believe is right. You have looked into the Vir’Abelasan. You know the weight of a world in ruin. I have lived it, and I do not wish to help such a thing happen again.”

Ellya felt her heart stir. The hope that she so desperately tried to stifle began to claw its way to the surface. 

“And uthenera?” She bit her lip. “I thought you wanted that, too.”

Abelas gently reached out and twined his fingers with hers. “It does not pull me as keenly as it once did.” He gazed at her quietly, letting the weight of his words settle between them. 

Ellya stepped closer, her chest suddenly tight. “ _ Ne halani ma glandival _ ,” she whispered, and watched as his eyes widened in recognition—his own declaration of faith murmured back to him. 

Abelas’ hands rose and his fingers grazed across her thighs and hips. “I will leave if you ask it of me,” he said, his voice a murmured vow. “But I do not wish to deny whatever this is that stirs between us. I care for you. Deeply.” Abelas inhaled a ragged breath and he looked at her silently for a moment, before his eyes flicked to her lips. “Would you permit me to kiss you?”

Ellya’s heart began to speed. She wanted to give herself over, but fear held her too tight. “Will you still fight Solas if I say no?” she whispered. She didn't move away, but she needed to know. Her betrayals and losses had already cut her too deeply. She could not be everything to someone right now. Not when she no longer felt whole. 

Abelas’ hold on her loosened. Raising a hand, he leaned back and cupped her chin between his forefinger and thumb. He was trembling, as much as herself, but his gaze remained firm. “One is not incumbent upon the other. I will fight him for myself and for all those that I love, regardless of your answer to me.” His thumb stroked over her chin and he let go. “Perhaps we have both found ourselves too adrift. I will not pressure you.”

And just like that, the final barrier broke. Ellya dug her fingers into his hair and leaned forward, capturing his lips with her own. It was not a gentle, tentative thing—a slow exploration or a timid embrace. It was raw and consuming, the tension between them crashing over and sweeping them away. 

Abelas’ arms encircled her, and he pulled her flush between his knees. Ellya gasped, pressing herself tightly against his chest. He tasted sweet, his lips firm and searching. She tugged on his hair and tilted his head, opening her mouth to deepen their kiss. His tongue moved forward and she moaned. Their breaths mingled. Their bodies slid and caressed. His hands cupped her face, and Abelas sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth. She felt herself falling, never wanting to stop.

Reluctantly, Ellya put her hand against his chest and pulled back, breaking their kiss. Abelas’ breathing was heavy, and so was her own. Leaning forward, she smoothed her fingers through his hair and shyly glanced at his face, her heart thundering in her chest. 

Abelas looked at her and a slow smile spread across his lips. Resting his hands on her hips, he leaned closed and kissed her again—lighter, more chaste. Ellya closed her eyes and let herself linger there, in the soft sensation of his mouth and the warm strength of his body. Desire for him surged, but she tamped it down. She was not ready, not yet, and she suspected neither was he. 

Abelas sighed, a contented sound, and pulled back. “I should let you resume your bath.” He ran his fingers through her hair and gently tugged on a tangled knot. 

“Yes,” she murmured. Her legs shaking, Ellya stepped out of his embrace. “May I show you around Skyhold when I’m done? We could find you a room. A place for you to call home.”

Abelas’ eyes hooded and his face grew serious. Stepping close, he ran a finger across her cheek. “I would like that. I have not had a home in a very long time.” Slowly, he dipped his head and kissed her, languid and smooth, his tongue running along her lips and his mouth alternating between soft and hard. 

He pulled back and the breath left Ellya’s lungs. She bit her lip to keep from grinning. 

“We will talk later.” His cheeks were flushed, but Abelas smiled as he headed for the stairwell.

As he reached the top step, he turned to her, a serious look on his face.  “Ellya,” he said firmly, “my vow to you holds true. I will do everything in my power to stop Fen’Harel. I will not leave.”

“I know.” The words left her lips automatically, but she believed them. Despite everything that had happened, despite her heartbreak and loss, she knew he would keep his word. “There's a lot of work to do.”

Abelas let out a soft breath, and his lips turned up into a sad smile. “Indeed.” He paused and then dipped his chin. “But you will not be alone.”

With one last long look, he descended the stairs and out of her sight. When she heard the door click shut, Ellya sank onto her bed and brought her hand to her lips. Tears welled in her eyes, but for once they were tinged with joy. Abelas was right—she was not alone, and never had been. 

  
As Ellya rose and walked back into her bathing room, the smile stayed on her lips. The world had changed her once more, but she was ready to face it head on. She was ready to fight.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abelas settles into his new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains m-rated sexual content.

“ _ Athim. Banal’ras. Elgara. Mi’nan. _ ”

Abelas walked down the line of his troops. Elves of every shape and size all moved as one, stepping and twisting in time with his commands. 

“Again,” he called. The troops reset and started over. 

Their numbers were increasing everyday—more and more persuaded to join their cause. Soon, they would be ready for battle. 

An autumn chill blew through the air and the burnt orange sunset gleamed off the soldiers’ armor. Blades danced in the cooling evening, mingling with the practiced battle calls and with the laughter and cheers of the tavern nearby, and Abelas paused to take it all in. 

The days had turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, since he had come to Skyhold—each moment melding into the next. Time moved strangely, both still and unbearably fast. His hand curled around the hilt of his dagger, and he glanced down at his armor. He was a new sort of general now. Gone were the facades and faces. Gone were the symbols of Mythal. Where his body was once adorned in golden plates and mail, shining silverite and swaths of leather and cream cloth took its place. This armor was his own, the metal carefully selected, and the pieces lovingly crafted and designed. 

A commotion from the castle courtyard broke Abelas from his musings, and he watched as Tamael and Iron Bull rode through the arched gate. 

“Enough.” Abelas waved his hand to dismiss his troops. “You are free to enjoy your evening as you see fit.”

Shoulders relaxed and the elves began to murmur excitedly as they broke off into small crowds and went their separate ways. 

Abelas crossed the yard. “It is good to see you return,” he said as Iron Bull and Tamael dismounted.

Iron Bull clapped him on the back and laughed. “I knew you'd miss me.”

Abelas snorted and crossed his arms. He glanced between Iron Bull and Tamael. “What news?”

The two shared a look. 

“Good and bad, I'm afraid,” Iron Bull replied. 

Tamael nodded as a stable boy took his horse’s reins. “The spies under the woman Briala have worked hard,” he admitted. “And Shianni’s guild has found more pockets of resistance within their alienages to join with our cause.”

“But?” Abelas prompted, his brows drawing into a frown. The three of them turned and began to walk toward the main stairwell to the castle. 

“But even more elves are disappearing,” Iron Bull said with a frustrated sigh. “Just bam. One day they’re there, and the next they’re not.”

Running a hand through his hair, Abelas stopped and looked between Tamael and Iron Bull. “And the shemlen?”

Tamael scoffed. “As helpful as they've always been.”

Abelas leveled a look at him, but he couldn’t argue. The Fereldan monarchy were at least not hindering their progress, but the same could not be said of the Bannorn, who were growing leery of the increasing number of elves populating Skyhold. Orlais was quiet, thus far, under Briala’s influence, but Tamael’s last visit had already warned them of whispers among the nobility. The humans were growing restless and despite the woman sitting atop their religious throne, they were growing more bold in their suspicions of Ellya’s involvement in the disappearance of elves. 

“We must work faster,” Abelas said with a sigh. “Fen’Harel has already bolstered too many allies to his side. He will strike soon.”

“Did no more Sentinels arrive while we were gone?” Tamael asked quietly, his tone carefully clipped. 

Shaking his head, Abelas lowered his eyes. “None.” His fingers flexed and the leather of his gloves creaked. “Arlassan believes a few returned to uthenera, but most decided to follow Fen’Harel.”

Tamael drew in a heavy breath. “That won’t make it easy.”

Abelas pursed his lips. “It was the risk we took in order to buy time. And it was their right to choose.” He swiped a hand across his mouth. “Presumably, he is still weakened. To pull himself from uthenera so soon must have taken its toll, but I do not have faith it will last much longer.”

Iron Bull grunted in agreement. “The Chargers and I will be ready to fight when needed. And the freemen we’ve been training in the valleys. Some Tal-vashoth settlements could probably also be persuaded.”

Abelas nodded. “I will inform Ellya.” He sighed. “She will most likely wish to visit these settlements before making a decision.”

Iron Bull chuckled. “Yeah, she usually does.”

“More bodies means more spies,” Tamael said with a raised brow.

Iron Bull grinned. “Don't worry. We’re the better spies.”

Abelas watched in amusement as Tamael tried to suppress a smirk. The months of working together had clearly softened the relationship between the two, perhaps even had given way to a tentative sort of friendship. 

Laughing, Iron Bull looked toward the rapidly darkening sky. “All right, the road’s been shit. Time for some pints and some fun. ” He smiled at Abelas and Tamael. “You up for a round of cards?”

Tamael brushed the front of his leather jerkin. “Not tonight. I’ve had nothing but your company for days.”

Iron Bull guffawed. “Fair enough. Abelas?”

Shaking his head, Abelas declined. “Another time.”

Waving goodbye, Iron Bull disappeared into the tavern, swallowed whole by the rousing cheers and warm light as soon as he stepped through the door. 

Together, Abelas and Tamael began to walk up the main steps to the castle, their pace leisurely and comfortable as they took in the arrival of night. 

As they reached the first landing, Tamael turned to him quietly. “Have you felt it?” he murmured.

Abelas nodded and looked down at his hands. “Yes,” he replied, his own tone hushed and melancholy. “For a few weeks now.”

Tamael stopped walking and sighed. “I have felt the same. Arlassan, too.” Glancing up, his eyes darted across the first glimpse of stars. “The quickening is not what I expected, even if it has been my wish for a long time.” He paused and turned a considering eye on Abelas. “But it wasn't your wish.”

The question dangled in the air between them, and Abelas felt a bittersweet sensation tug at his spirit. 

“No, it was not,” he admitted. “To feel my immortality seep from my bones is...unsettling. Frightening, even.” The stars seemed to blur and shine brighter. Abelas smiled. “But I am at peace with my decisions.”

Tamael stared at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing and searching, before a faint and rare smile spread on his lips. “Good.” He reached out a hand and squeezed Abelas’ shoulder.

“Are you at peace with yours?” Abelas asked gently. 

Tamael’s hand slid from his shoulder, and he crossed his arms. “You mean am I content with joining this fight? With these new elves?”

Abelas almost smirked. It was a fair change from the derision and claims of  _ banal’vhen _ Tamael had once spouted. “Yes, that is what I mean.”

Turning toward the entrance hall, Tamael continued up the stairs. “I joined Fen’Harel because I had little choice, but I did want a free life. For Jae and Arlassan. And for myself.” He paused. “And part of me did truly believe in the idea of a new culture of Elvhen, built by our hands and not by the self-appointed gods.” 

They reached the doorway and Tamael glanced at Abelas. “When Elvhenan fell and that dream felt impossible, I decided on indifference. It was the only way to keep myself moored against the disappointment...and the pain.”

Abelas nodded and kept silent. He knew those feelings all too well. If Tamael had hid within indifference, Abelas had done the same within his duty.

A furrow formed along Tamael’s brow and a bemused smile spread along his lips. “But, as I look around here, at Ellya and these clans—elves from the alienages and from the wilds, all fighting for a world to call their own—I’m struck with notion that perhaps that dream isn't as dead as I thought, even if it looks different than I imagined.” He huffed and pushed the wooden door open, his smile transforming into a grin. “At the very least, the chance for vengeance against the Dread Wolf enhances my desire to stay.”

Abelas stared at Tamael’s back for a few moments, somewhat stunned, before following him through the doors. 

The main hall was warm and boisterous, the tables lining the walls filled with soldiers and tradesmen all sitting down for the evening meal. Sconces were lit and a fire roared in the great hearth. Elves of all shapes and sizes, plain-faced and marked, mingled and laughed in the flickering light. 

Abelas felt his heart grow light as he looked around. Tamael was right. This was a dream refashioned and born anew. His eyes slid over the faces of the crowd—the clans from the North, Diceni, Abersher’al, Briathos, and those from the South, Ralaferin, Alerion, and Sabrae. Freed slaves from Tevinter and indentured servants from Orlais. Rivaini Dalish and their spirit-attuned seers. The bare faces of the city-born kin—Denerim, Kirkwall, Halamshiral, Antiva City. It reminded Abelas of the Temple after the rising if the Veil, of the people brought together from across all Elvhenan and united in a singular purpose in the face of destruction. The walls had changed, and the people in them, but this was familiar. This felt like home. 

Tamael nudged him, and they walked toward the hearth. Abelas’ eyes alighted on Halani and Arlassan curled together on the couch. They were raptly listening to Aneth’ail, an older ranking mage of the Clan Diceni, as he spoke to them of his clan’s traditions.

“You really use eagles?” Halani said in an awed rush of words.

“The clan’s hunters do,” Aneth’ail said with a gentle smile. “It's a rite of passage to capture and train one, and a special bond that’s treated with the greatest honor and respect.”

Abelas stood at the side of the couch and watched as Halani’s face practically lit up with excitement. More than anyone, she had found joy in this new existence, soaking up whatever experience and knowledge she could. 

“I’d love to see that.” She bit her lip. “When you go back in a few weeks, may I come with you?”

Aneth’ail dipped his head. “Of course. Diceni would gladly welcome you.” His eyes flicked briefly toward Tamael. “It would welcome all of you.”

Abelas suppressed a smile. The mage tried to hide his burgeoning affection, but it was plain to see, if one knew how to look. And he had not missed how often the two had slipped away together or exchanged glances across busy rooms. He also did not miss how Tamael’s lips twitched at the words or the softness that entered his eyes. 

“ _ Ma serannas _ , Aneth’ail,” Abelas said diplomatically. “Ellya plans to travel north to visit Abersher'al in the coming months. Perhaps we will adjust our route and travel east along the way.”

It was mostly true. They were traveling north to Ellya’s birth clan, but a simple visit was not their intent. They would be stationing troops. However, that agenda was not one he could reveal in a crowded hall. 

Aneth'ail’s eyes narrowed in understanding. “I'm sure Keeper Paeris would be accommodating.”

Abelas dipped his head in thanks. As more people joined them at the fire, the conversation turned light and easy. Excusing himself, Abelas walked to the table to fill a plate for dinner. 

“Abelas.” Arlassan moved close to his side and spoke low. “May I walk with you?”

“Of course,” Abelas said as he put roasted fish and cheeses onto a platter, and began to examine the ripeness of the fruit. 

Arlassan follow him around the table. His gait was casual but his eyes glanced surreptitiously around. 

“I’ve spoken with Ishala,” he said casually and selected a slice of pear from the table. 

It took every ounce of control for Abelas not to gape and turn. He had not heard from Ishala since he had guided her into uthenera. “Is she well?” Abelas asked, forcing his voice to be smooth. He placed two slices of bread on his plate and turned to walk toward the dais.  

Arlassan nodded and moved into stride at Abelas’ side. “Yes, she seemed so.” He smoothed his hands together. “She was awoken like the others, and freed. She's traveling at Fen’Harel’s side.”

Abelas’ jaw clenched. 

“But,” Arlassan continued, “she won't help him. She's tired and doesn't want to fight.”

“Yes,” Abelas said and walked up the dais steps, toward the far door, “it would surprise me if she did.”

As they walked into the darkened tower, Abelas searched the shadows before turning himself fully toward Arlassan to hear what he had to say. 

“She plans for uthenera, but she sought me out to issue a warning.” Arlassan reached into his robes and pulled out a small folded pouch. “The Dread Wolf’s strength is returning, and he is beginning to circle. Soon, he’ll be strong enough to hunt the Fade.” Arlassan held up the pouch in offering. “Burn these herbs before you sleep. You and Ellya. Breathe in the smoke. It will protect your dreams.”

Balancing the tray in one hand, Abelas took the herbs and sighed. “It was only a matter of time.”

Arlassan looked upward, as if trying to see beyond the stone and wooden scaffolding and into sky far above. “Yes, the Fade and its spirits sing to him, stronger than anyone I have ever known. He will use them to draw her out.” His eyes flicked down to Abelas. “And you and my father, if you're not careful.”

“Thank you,” Abelas said and clutched the herbs tighter in his palm. He frowned at Arlassan. “Protect yourself as well, Arlassan. You may be a Dreamer, but that only puts you at greater risk.”

A soft smile spread across Arlassan’s lips. “I know. I will not let myself be taken unaware. And I have a good reason to keep my distance and remain safe.”

Abelas adjusted the tray of food and gestured toward the still open door to the main hall. “Then perhaps you should return to her and enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Arlassan’s smile broadened and he ducked his head. “If you insist.”

Bidding him goodnight, Arlassan swept back into the main hall and disappeared into the mingling crowd. 

Abelas closed the wooden door, shutting out the revelry, and began his ascent up the tower stairs. 

Ellya was seated at her desk when he entered, her braided hair in disarray and an ink smudge dotting her cheek. Abelas smiled at the sight. It had been months since he had first climbed these steps to her quarters, quarters that they now shared. But in those months, his love for her had only grown. It had been formed in kisses and bodily desire, of course, in those stirrings which he had not allowed himself to feel for many centuries, but it was also in the quiet evenings, the small conversations and simple company that had moved his heart ever forward.

She startled slightly when he crested the top step and approached the desk. “Did I miss dinner?” she asked and glanced toward the rapidly darkening sky outside the balcony doors.

Raising a brow, Abelas walked to her side and placed the tray of food onto the corner of her desk. “You are working too hard,” he admonished and reached over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Ellya scoffed and set down her quill. “You say that like I have a choice.” Wetting her lips, she picked up a slice of halla cheese and nibbled at the edge. “Mmm, thank you.”

Abelas placed a kiss on her temple and walked to the armor stand across the room. “What has your attention this evening?” he asked as he began to unfasten the buckles of his breastplate.

“Nothing good.” Ellya took another bite of cheese and gestured to the papers along her desk. “The Qunari are attacking settlements all along the northern border of Tevinter, and some even into the Free Marches. Leliana won’t be able to ignore that for long.” She jabbed the hook of her prosthetic arm toward another paper. “And now Dorian has sent me reports of even more elves disappearing, including many that were apprenticed to mages.” She sat back against her chair in a huff. “I have my contacts in Abersher’al searching, and Dorian is working with Briala and Shianni to infiltrate the Tevinter networks, but the progress is slow.” She rubbed a hand over her brow. 

Abelas placed his armor and leather onto the stand and turned to the washing basin to cleanse his hands and face. 

“I might need to go north sooner than I thought,” Ellya said with a sigh. She picked at a piece of bread and stared out the window. “How can so many elves just disappear without a trace?”

Returning to her, Abelas rested his hip against the side of the desk and glanced down at the papers. “Even in my time, Fen’Harel was known for his trickery.” He looked back at her face and frowned. “But we will find out, and he will not succeed.”

Ellya smiled, but Abelas could see that it was forced. He reached out and smoothed his thumb gently over her cheek. “ _ M’er’asha _ , do not doubt yourself.”

Leaning into his hand, she closed her eyes. “I’m not. But it’s certainly easier to have faith with you here, and with Halani and Bull. Arlassan. Briala. Even Tamael.”

Abelas straightened and let his hand fall to her shoulder. “Good. You should rely on your friends. And on me.” He squeezed her shoulder and saw her grimace in pain.

Frowning, Abelas loosened his grip and ran his eyes over her body. “Are you injured?”

Ellya laughed and stood. “Hardly.” She brought a hand up to rub her neck before leaning over to straighten the papers. “Just sore.” She narrowed her eyes at him accusingly, but smirked. “You weren’t exactly easy on me in training yesterday.”

Crossing his arms, Abelas raised a brow. “Going easy on you would be of no benefit to you or your soldiers. The  _ Dirth’ena Enasalin _ is a challenge, and mastery does not come without pain.”

Ellya’s lips twitched. “Yes, I remember you saying something like that when you knocked me to the ground for the fifth time.”

Abelas uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the desk. She was teasing him. Circling around, he stepped closer to her. “Shall I make amends?” he asked and deliberately let his gaze travel her body.

The smile on her lips grew wider. She turned to face him and leaned back to sit against the desk. “And how would you do that?” 

Abelas stepped even closer and lifted a finger to trace the metal clasp that held her robes closed. “If your body is in need of tending…” He hooked his finger under the clasp and pried it open with a gentle tug.

Ellya giggled lightly as the fabric fell loose around her waist. “Perhaps I should let you throw me to ground more often, if this is how you say sorry.”

Nudging her legs apart and stepping into the cradle of her thighs, Abelas smoothed his hands under her robes and down her back. “I will remind you of that the next time you complain about my training methods.” He leaned in and grazed her neck with his lips. 

Ellya groaned and arched against his touch. “You don't play fair.”

He flicked his tongue against her skin and nipped. “Yes, you have told me that.” 

He flattened his palm across her stomach and pressed a kiss to the base of her ear. Her scent surrounded him, the faint orange blossom and cedar smoke enveloping and caressing his senses as he worked his fingers higher. Kissing her jaw, he unfastened the buckles of the harness that held her prosthetic firm against her shoulder. Ellya sighed and moaned. Gently, he pulled back and carefully pulled the contraption from her arm. 

With a languid smile, Ellya watched him, eyes hooded as he set the prosthetic on the desk and smoothed his hands over her shoulders. 

Abelas pressed his fingers harder, massaging them into the tight muscles of her back, and watched with pleasure as her eyes fluttered closed and a soft sigh escaped her lips. 

“That feels good,” she breathed.

Abelas moved between her legs once more and slid his hands to her hips to press her close. “That was my intent,” he murmured and nuzzled his nose into her hair. 

Her hips rolled and Abelas sucked in a quick breath, his grip tightening around her waist. “You will distract me from tending to your aches.”

Ellya’s head fell back and she rolled her hips again, the friction just right against his. “That was my intent,” she mimicked, her hand snaking up his arm to wrap around his neck. 

Abelas groaned and hooked his arms under her legs. In a swift motion, he hoisted her against his chest and walked them to their bed.

Her robes fluttered around her as he laid her gently on the mattress. “I was making amends.” He trailed his hand up her thigh and hooked it in the waistband of her doeskin leggings. 

“My apologies,” Ellya said with a sweet chuckle. 

Abelas grinned and curled his fingers into her shirt to tug it loose. Bending forward, he kissed the newly bared skin of her stomach and pushed her shirt higher. His grin broadened as her breathing began to quicken and more gentle moans left her lips. He licked at the softness of her belly, trailing his tongue across the pebbling skin until he reached the fullness of her breasts. He pulled her upright and tugged the shirt over her head. Not wasting a single moment, Abelas ducked and captured her nipple with his mouth. 

Ellya gasped and arched. Abelas stirred against the sound, his hips twitching forward as he laved his tongue over the hardened peak. He pulled her closer, one hand splaying against her back while the other moved to her other breast. 

The warmth and supplication of her body made him groan. He bucked his hips forward as her palm caressed him through the cloth of his breeches. 

“Please,” Ellya begged in a whimpering moan, and Abelas could not, would not, deny her. His body was hers just as surely as his heart. 

He pulled back just enough to fully remove his clothes and felt his heart quicken as Ellya’s eyes roved over him. She looked at him with hunger, one that matched his own. 

With a determined groan, he tugged her leggings off and threw them to the floor. His breath caught, and he allowed himself a moment to stare. His gaze slid over the deep olive of her skin, over the red and white scars and marks along her torso and arm, to the ink still splotched across her vallaslin, and to the dark red of her hair still entangled in a messy braid. She was beautiful to him, in every way.

Softly, he trailed a finger up her leg, over the ample curve of her hip, around the swell of her stomach and through the valley between her breasts. His mouth followed in its wake, and he delighted in the breathy gasps and moans that punctuated every touch. 

Cupping her face with his hands, his settled his body between her legs and captured her lips in a tender kiss.

Ever so slowly, he rocked his hips, sliding his length against her wetness. Ellya sighed against his lips and wrapped her legs around his waist, her hips rolling and urging him to continue. 

He kissed her with deliberation, softly tugging her bottom lip between his teeth and rocked his hips again. Her breath hitched at the friction and he groaned. Pulling back once more, he positioned himself and entered her in one long stroke. 

Ellya gasped and opened her mouth, deepening their kiss. Their tongues slid together, rocking in rhythm with their hips. Abelas held her to him, his arms wrapping under her back and pulling her in tight. One drawn out thrust and then another, and Abelas drew their pleasure higher. The slick feel of her, the strangled moans and whispered pleas leaving her lips urged him ever on. Their bodies and their magic intertwined. It was a benediction, a new sort of worship, and Abelas let himself find rapture in the prayer. 

“Yes,” Ellya groaned. Her nails scraped against his shoulder and her lips parted. 

Pulling back, he hooked an arm under her knee and plunged deeper, increasing his speed. Faster and faster he went, the desire and pleasure coiling tight in his body, ready to release. 

Her head fell back and her eyes squeezed shut. Abelas watched, his own release at the brink of spilling over, and thrust his hips harder. He had promised to tend to her, and he would see that vow fulfilled. Sitting back on his heels, he brought his fingers between their bodies and quickly found her clit. Ellya cried out and ecstasy contorted her features. Abelas groaned, rubbing the bundle of nerves with his thumb as his hips continued to roll. The sight of bringing her to pleasure was almost more than he could bear. 

Ellya arched and gasped. Her eyes locked with his, and she pulled herself up. Wrapping her arm around his neck, she straddled his lap. 

Their breaths panted and mixed, and Abelas felt himself spiraling out of control. He gripped her waist and groaned as her hips rocked faster, riding and stroking him with every move. He captured her lips with his own and a strangled cry sounded in his throat. His body tensed and spasmed, his climax crashing into him like a thundering wave. He clung to her, pulling her in tight, as she rode him to his peak. 

A long silence passed, a moment of simple breaths and the tangled thumping of their hearts. Abelas stroked his fingers down her back and let his forehead rest against hers. 

“Mmmm,” Ellya hummed and placed a kiss against his lips, “I think I forgive you.”

Abelas smirked. “I am glad to have persuaded you.” Gently, he lifted her from his lap and pulled her down to lay with him across the bed. 

He tugged at the strip of leather that bound her braid, and combed his fingers into her loosened hair. 

“I love you,” Ellya whispered and placed her cheek against his chest, snuggling her body into his side. 

Smoothing his hand over her hair, Abelas smiled. “And I love you,” he murmured. And it was the truth, the plain and unforgiving truth of his existence. It was astonishing to him, an unexpected gift after centuries of toiling away in never-ending servitude.

Abelas hugged her closer. “No matter what happens,  _ m’er’asha _ , know that there is nowhere I would rather be than at your side.”

He felt Ellya smile against his skin. Propping up onto her elbow, she turned her face to meet his gaze. The look she gave him stunned him and his fingers tightened their grip. Leaning forward, she kissed him—slow and sweet. “This is where I choose to be, too,” she whispered as she pulled back. 

Abelas felt his heart skip and a feeling of surety and rightness settled over his entire being. 

They talked for hours after that, wrapping in each other's arms, and enjoying each other well into the night, a friendship between them just as solid as the love. He fed her pieces of fruit and she ran her fingers through his hair, speaking strategy, of troop movements and training, and of their friends and the many dreams they had shared. As the hour grew late, Abelas burned the herbs Arlassan had provided to keep them safe and pulled Ellya firmly into his arms. War still loomed and the future was new and uncertain, but for the first time in centuries as Abelas drifted off to sleep, he found himself eager to wake.    
  


The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end. I hope you enjoyed this journey with me.
> 
> A huge thank you to my best bros and betas, saarebitch and sirenfromspace. I would not have been able to complete this without you. You've been my rocks and my steadfast support. 
> 
> Aneth'ail and Clans Diceni and Briathos belong to saarebitch.
> 
> A huge thank you, too, to all my readers who left comments and kudos and who enjoyed this story. I really appreciate you taking the time to read.
> 
> I have left this open for the small possibility of a continuation, but we'll see what DA4 brings. Until then, love you all.


End file.
